


Bodies Can Be Bought But the Heart Cannot Be Owned; Only Given Freely

by kyrene



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abduction, Biting, Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Fingering, Hair Pulling, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Rimming, Scenting, Slavery, Violence, Watersports, character death (just bad guys), emotional distress, handjob, happy ending (in every sense), reference to past molestation, reference to past physical abuse, reference to past torture, slave-Stiles, slavery of humans by werewolves as a social norm, urine as marking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 11:13:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 102,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3379439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrene/pseuds/kyrene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where the human race is enslaved by the werewolf race, Derek Hale struggles to recover from the damage caused to his teenage self by the human, Kate Argent. More to the point, he doesn't believe that slavery is right. But each werewolf gets a personal slave when they become an adult and he's long overdue. </p><p>The moment he sets eyes on the filthy, naked slave in the corner of the packed warehouse, Derek knows he has to bring him home. But can he ever gets Stiles, who has never known a kind owner before, to trust that he's finally found a safe place?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** This is not the slave-fic that I would want to read but it's evidently the slave-fic that my brain decided to write. I have no idea where this came from but here it is, and I hope it's not completely terrible. Enjoy? (Seriously, I don't even know, but months and 100k later, here it is!)
> 
> Dedicated to [Reena](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Reena) for being an awesome pre-reader/lifesaver and also to [brwneyedvixen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/brwneyedvixen) because it is her birthday today and that's what pushed me to finally get this monster finished!! <3
> 
> (So annoyed that I have to break this work up - IT'S MEANT TO BE READ ALL IN ONE GO, just so you know!)

"This is your last chance, Derek," Peter warned, clapping what was no doubt meant to be a friendly, comforting hand to his shoulder.

Derek shrugged away and snarled at his uncle before he could stop himself, even though he knew that exposed more weakness than otherwise. 

Peter raised one carefully groomed eyebrow and gave him an arch look.

"If you don't choose your own slave today," he explained, enunciating slowly as though he was speaking to a young child, which raised Derek's hackles more, both figuratively and literally, "Then you know that your mother will choose for you. And I can guarantee you, you're not going to like her choice."

Derek growled under his breath, but he knew that Peter was right. Talia Hale was a powerful and decisive alpha, who'd let her son get away without having his own personal slave for far too long now. And if Derek didn't pick one out for himself today, then his mother was going to gift him with one that he'd had no hand in choosing.

It wasn't that Derek didn't think his mother was capable of getting the right slave for him... but he knew damned well that she'd choose one that she felt would be best for him, and not the one he would have chosen for himself.

Of course the biggest trouble with that last was the fact that Derek didn't _want_ to choose one for himself. It wasn't the choosing that was the issue; it was having a slave in the first place.

"I don't want a slave," Derek grumbled as Peter signed them both in with the hostess, writing the Hale name with a flourish. 

"Not all of them are like Kate," Peter replied equally quietly, herding Derek into the large warehouse that had far too many bodies in it for Derek's peace of mind.

"It's not that," Derek snapped, irritated by this mention of the slave who'd weakened him with wolfsbane then bound and tortured him when he had been a teenager. Derek _knew_ that most slaves weren't like that, obviously, or else there would be a lot more werewolf deaths and slavery of humans wouldn't still be a societal norm and personal expectation.

"Oh, right," Peter said, smirking at Derek in a manner guaranteed to piss him off. "It's that overdeveloped sense of morality, telling you that it's _wrong_ to enslave another race."

Derek glared darkly. "How would you feel about it if it were the other way around, Peter?" he asked, the same old argument, but it was the only effective one that he had. And if anyone would stop and _think_ , if they'd take just a moment to _empathize_ it would be the only argument that mattered. "If we were the slaves to the humans?"

Peter snorted. "Wouldn't happen," he dismissed easily with a little wave of his hand. "We're strong, humans are weak."

Derek gave up, scowling and hunching his shoulders. He wasn't going to be able to convince Peter, he already knew. His uncle was pretty forward-thinking about a lot of things... but ownership of human slaves wasn't one of those. 

He could have told Peter that he hadn't felt very strong, had in fact felt pretty fucking weak, when Kate had dosed him with wolfsbane. But if he brought that up Peter would think that this was still about _her_ , when it really wasn't. 

The real point was that anyone could be weak and anyone could be strong, and no one should presume to "own" another living being.

Peter was right about one thing, though. If Derek didn't purchase his own slave today his mother was going to do it for him, and Derek could be ninety-nine percent sure he wouldn't like whoever she picked. Not to mention the fact that while he loved and trusted his Mom, he also knew her, so he couldn't be sure any slave she supplied for him wouldn't be a spy who would report his mental and emotional health back to their alpha. Even though it was only because she was his mother and she worried, he deeply hated even the _idea_ of that happening.

"Just choose one that's completely different than Kate," was Peter's helpful suggestion as he dragged Derek around from vendor to vendor. Derek winced, trying not to actually look at any of the slaves on display.

Most vendors were decent enough to put their slaves into scraps of cloth that covered the essentials, but there were those who preferred the more traditional method of leaving their wares naked so that potential buyers could see what they were getting into.

Derek hated it and he wished he was anywhere other than here. If he had the money, he'd buy every single human here and set them all free.... 

But then, the world wasn't set up for freed humans, and the one slave that Derek was going to purchase today was a slave that he was going to be keeping, living in his home with him. Derek wasn't going to be setting anyone free today; he couldn't because that would entirely defeat the purpose of this trip.

Derek was almost resigned to the idea of letting Peter choose his slave for him, which would suck but not as badly as letting his mother picking one out would, when he wandered into a dark corner of the warehouse in an attempt to escape his annoying uncle... and stumbled across exactly what he needed, put out on display by a vendor who looked pretty much the opposite of reputable.

"When I said different than Kate," Peter hissed from where he had caught up with Derek, squeezing his upper arm with the prick of claws to underline his words, "I didn't mean _this_ different."

Derek ignored him, though, his gaze caught and held by the slave on the other side of the flimsy, waist-high chain link fence that nominally separated them.

It was a boy who looked to be about fourteen or fifteen, though he might have been older; it was hard to tell when he was skinny and hunched over and badly in need of a bath.

He was young, he was clearly underfed, and his gaunt face was sporting a look that was caught halfway between defiant and despondent. 

Derek stared. Big brown eyes stared back from under a fringe of limp, dark bangs, above an upturned nose. There was a thick but smooth scar bisecting one winging brow, skipping over the eye itself, thankfully, then sliced into the top angle of his sharp cheekbone. It wasn't disfiguring; instead seeming almost to be crafted to draw attention to the beauty of the rest of his face.

He was somewhat crouched, on his feet but pulled inward as though he was damaged or maybe just embarrassed to have his junk on full display, but aside from the scar and the fact that he needed to gain at least fifty pounds, he looked healthy enough.

Maybe it was the hint of defiance in his eyes that spoke to Derek. Maybe it was his scent; bitter with old pain and sour with current anger but strong with something else, something that was completely new to Derek and yet which spoke of "home" in a way that nothing outside his own apartment or his mother's house ever had before.

Or maybe it was something else entirely. But whatever the cause, Derek knew.

"Mine," he said, glaring at the vendor. Then, "That one," he told Peter, pointing.

"Seriously?" Peter groaned, rolling his head on his neck. As though his opinion was going to in any way sway Derek at this point.

"You don't want this one," the vendor said, speaking in some kind of thick accent. "He runs. He gets away. Beatings don't help. He is not broken."

"Why would you have him on display, then?" Peter asked reasonably, even though he was clearly displeased by Derek's choice. Well, he still sounded annoyed, but he channeled it into the question he had asked the vendor, which Derek definitely approved of.

"Slaves aren't supposed to be broken," Derek grumbled, but he kept it under his breath. Laura was the one who got away with saying things like that out loud; Derek wasn't as bold as she was, wasn't as outspoken when it came to things like rights for humans or the ethical treatment of slaves, even though he wanted to be. Laura was older and she would be an alpha someday. Derek was just the middle child in a large family and after what Kate had done to him he was leery about standing out, about potentially making himself a target.

Peter shot him a quick look, but didn't say anything. The vendor was human, so he hadn't heard. That was probably part of why he was in a dark corner, sporting a ragged tent and showing filthy, obviously mistreated slaves. Well, to be fair, vendors were generally about twenty percent human, the other eighty percent being werewolves, but the human vendors were usually rich and confident and had worked their way to the top of the shark tank, so to speak. This guy... not so much. In fact, Derek wondered how he'd even gotten in the door. He only had five slaves on display, though at least the other four looked to be better shape than Derek's boy was in.

"I need to be rid of him," the vendor said in answer to Peter's question, nearly bent in half he was kowtowing so hard to the wealthy looking werewolf and his sullen nephew. "But you are too fine for him. He deserves that not. He will serve you not. He would better be a sex slave."

Derek went cold at that. He knew that was something that happened, unspoken of in polite society, but it was frowned upon, taken as a sign of weakness. Not even because it involved a werewolf mating a human, but because it meant that the werewolf had needed to _purchase_ his or her sexual partner.

"Has he been trained in that?" Peter asked smoothly, ignoring the low-level growl Derek had going on next to him. Derek's gaze was fixed on the boy, whose own dark eyes had slid to the side when the vendor had suggested he become a sex slave, giving him a distinctly unfriendly look.

The boy was a strange mixture of pride and defiance combined with fear and submissiveness, Derek thought, his interest piqued as well as his instincts still screaming "mine" at him. As if he had bowed enough to withstand what had happened to him without actually being broken yet.

He might not be too far from it, though, if he was sold to an owner who would use him cruelly. Human slaves had no recourse when that happened; something that Derek's mother was trying to change through political channels, and Laura was fighting to completely change by more grassroots and possibly guerilla tactics.

"No, he has not," the vendor was telling Peter, hands wringing before him, and Derek wanted to tear him apart. He didn't usually have violent feelings toward humans, despite what Kate had done, even though a lot of them moved and smelled like prey, but this asshole just kept rubbing him the wrong way. And not just because of the way he mistreated and spoke of the slave he was trying to sell, though that was a large part of it too.

"But he could be taught, by heavy enough hand," the vendor continued, glancing in Derek's direction, though he was careful not to make eye contact, his eyes kind of glancing off Derek's nearer shoulder. "Anyone can be taught, if they survive the teaching. For this one, force would be needed. You gentlemen look too kind."

Peter snorted, though whether it was over being described as "kind" or if it was because he firmly maintained that Derek was too soft-hearted for his own good and so agreed with the vendor's assessment, Derek couldn't be sure.

Derek's attention was back on the boy, anyway, drawn there as though on a string. He couldn't tear it away for long, and it didn't matter to him what the vendor said, he _was_ taking this slave home with him.

"No wolves are kind," the boy unexpectedly spoke up, not loudly but perfectly articulate, his voice as youthful as his face, coming out low and bitter and more than a little scratchy, as though his throat had been damaged at some point.

Derek winced internally, because it was clear to see why this slave thought so, but he was wrong. Derek disapproved of humans being used as slaves in general and he really hated the idea of each werewolf having a personal slave, but all the Hale humans were well taken care of and healthy. Which this boy would learn once Derek got him home.

Before Derek could come up with a satisfying comeback to that, though, the vendor acted, quick and vicious as a striking viper.

"You do not speak without being spoken to," he snarled, fist flashing out and knocking the boy to his knees on the rough warehouse floor. 

Derek lunged, his growl nearly a roar, his eyes flashing, breaking the chain link fence separating them as though it was made of paper. His rage rendered him prepared to tear the vendor's throat out for daring to touch what was _his_ , but it was more important to kneel in front of his boy and make sure he was okay.

"Well, shit," he could hear Peter utter behind him, sounding more guttural and far less cultured than Derek was used to. "I guess we're gonna have to buy him now. Derek, you complete fucking disaster." He then addressed the vendor directly. "I hope you're willing to offer a sizeable discount for damaged goods."

The vendor babbled something, but Derek's attention was focused solely on the skinny, naked boy who was crouched before him, on his hands and knees, his unscarred cheekbone already bruising, pale skin marred, his gaze fixed on Derek with obvious fear, no doubt due to Derek's rage and his quick movements into the boy's space.

Ignoring Peter and the vendor as inconsequential while they haggled over price, Derek reached out and grabbed, cradling the boy's bony face in his hands, careful as though he was handling something precious. He could feel the strength of the bones under his fingertips, but he also knew that his hands contained the power to crush those bones to dust if he wanted.

He would never want that, would never, ever do that, though. He couldn't. As far as Derek was concerned, he _was_ handling something precious.

"What's your name," he asked, keeping his voice low and, he hoped, nonthreatening. He didn't bother asking if the boy was okay; clearly he was hurt, and just as clearly he'd been damaged far more badly in the past and had recovered from it. 

He was a teenage human slave who was bare-ass naked and undernourished, who was being sold to a werewolf he assumed would be cruel to him, and he'd been struck in the face hard enough to knock him to his knees. Of course he wasn't okay. So Derek wouldn't be the dumbass that asked that question.

He did, however, have a burning desire to know what this boy called himself. Werewolves were allowed to rename their slaves, and many of them did, but the Hales felt that this was unnecessary and, in a word, dehumanizing. There was a definite power play involved, in treating a slave as a belonging rather than their own being, and Derek understood it but he disapproved on every level.

So whatever name this boy gave him, that would be his name. Derek could give him that much. He wanted to give him more.

Those brown eyes were watching him warily, and it pleased Derek that this human boy was willing to meet his eyes; it meant that, like the vendor had said, he wasn't broken yet. Even if staring down a werewolf wasn't the smartest move ever, generally speaking.

But then that bright gaze was gone, hidden behind lowered lids. Derek was disappointed, but that gave him a chance to note how long and thick the boy's lashes were, and he watched as a pink tongue flickered out to wet chapped lips that would be pretty once he'd fed his slave back to full health. 

"Your name?" he prompted again, even more softly, keeping the words for just the two of them. Not because he was showing weakness by expressing concerned for a "mere" slave, even though there were plenty of buyers, vendors, and even slaves in this warehouse who would feel that way, but because he was selfish and didn't want to share any of their moments with anyone outside the two of them.

He couldn't wait to get this pretty, damaged, nearly feral boy home and make him his own. Derek sensed it was going to be a struggle, probably the biggest challenge in his life, but he was ready for it.

"Stiles," slipped out through parted lips; a gift reluctantly given but impossible to reclaim now that Derek knew how his boy self-identified.

Derek wondered if that was a nickname. It might not be; some human parents gave their offspring odd names in an effort to differentiate them from the werewolves who owned them, as a small act of independence. Then Derek wondered whether his Stiles had ever _known_ his parents. There were some human slaves who hadn't been allowed to be part of a family unit during childhood; especially when they had a less caring owner. So maybe Stiles had picked out that name for himself. That was, if it hadn't come from a previous owner.

It made Derek feel somewhat sad and uncomfortable to think that he didn't know where Stiles was coming from, where he had been, what he had suffered and what he'd lost. He knew how he smelled, though, and he knew that now Stiles belonged to him.

"I'm Derek," he offered in return, and he missed those big brown eyes, but then Peter was unceremoniously kicking him in the thigh, and declaring;

"Come on, Derek. We're done here. Time to head home."

"Clothes," Derek said shortly, standing and raising the boy to his feet as well with hands cupped under his sharp elbows.

Peter sighed in an entirely unnecessarily longsuffering way and handed over the bag he'd been carrying slung over his shoulder since they'd exited the car.

For the first time since Peter had dragged him in here, Derek was grateful that his uncle was such a traditionalist. If it had been left up to him, Derek wouldn't have brought the extra clothing that most buyers preferred to put on their slaves as soon as they were purchased, since he hadn't intended to bring anyone home.

But Peter had insisted that Derek bring along one of his shirts and a pair of sweatpants, and Derek felt worlds better once the slave -- Stiles -- was draped in them. Not because he'd had a problem with the nudity, but because being naked had rendered the boy even more vulnerable when he had already been brought down and robbed of everything.

A little dignity should be a right, Derek thought angrily, scowling and making Stiles cringe, misinterpreting the expression as being aimed at him when he fumbled while dressing, when Derek was actually angry _on his behalf_. 

Clothing should be a given; it shouldn't be something to be gifted upon an individual if their owner felt like it.

Derek knew that there were werewolves who insisted that their slaves perform all their functions nude. That was far more socially acceptable than making them perform sex acts, though the two sometimes went hand in hand. More often, though, the enforced nudity was a way to keep the slaves "in their place", and on occasion it could be the result of a paranoid owner who wanted to ensure that their slaves were unable to pull a weapon on them....

Though, when the slaves' owners had only to shift and their teeth and fingers would become deadly sharp, what could a slave carry that would be of any threat?

Yes, Derek had been held captive and damaged by a human, but wolfsbane had been involved. And in a world run by werewolves, that particular plant was exceedingly hard to come by. Most slaves who might be inclined to use it wouldn't even begin to know how to get their hands on it. Kate had been an anomaly, in more ways than one.

At any rate, something in Derek settled once Stiles was wearing his clothes, his skin covered in Derek's scent. The clothes, of course, were way too large on his skinny frame, but the sweatpants had a drawstring, and they only had to make it to the car, and from the car into his apartment. If he hadn't known it would further rob Stiles of his autonomy, Derek would just have happily swooped the boy into his arms and carried him out of here much more quickly than they could walk.

Peter grumped when Derek clambered in the back seat with his boy. "You're making me feel like a cab driver here, Derek," he complained irritably.

"Take us home," Derek grunted, dragging the boy in close and actually feeling his body heat for the first time. It wasn't as warm and vital as Derek knew it should be, but he blamed that on stress, shock, pain, and the obvious lack of decent meals for far too long. He'd get the boy fed and clothed and taken care of and he'd be warmer and more healthy before too much time had passed. 

The very first thing, though, would be to give him a bath. Right now Stiles reeked of panicked sweat and unwashed flesh and that disgusting vendor. Derek's clothes could only do so much to cover that tangle of negativity. 

As Peter started the car and prepared to leave the parking lot, Derek pressed his palm to the boy's neck, doing what he could to wipe his scent along the pulsing line of his throat and then up into his hair, which needed washing, sliding over the smooth curve of his skull.

"Really, Derek?" Peter barked, glaring at him in the rearview mirror. "I swear, if you whip your cock out and piss on him right now, you're both walking home."

Derek snarled, and Stiles shrank into himself, though he didn't fight to get out of Derek's arms. "Just shut up and drive."

"You're welcome, Derek," Peter snarked as he drove, and, yeah, Derek might owe Peter some gratitude for making sure that Stiles got paid for -- though it was his mother's money -- and that the papers got signed, but he was being such a _dick_. "It was my pleasure, Derek. So happy I could help, Derek."

Derek ignored him, pressing his nose into his new slave's temple and simply breathing, taking in the boy's scent and staining his skin with his own.

"Fucking hell," Peter groaned, slapping the steering wheel and since he had nothing more helpful to add, Derek tuned him out the rest of the way home. 

***

His new owner just _had_ to go and be impossibly attractive, Stiles thought despairingly as he held perfectly still and tried to act as little like prey as possible.

Of course, _most_ werewolves were disgustingly good looking. It was like a prerequisite, something that was coded into their genes along with predatory instincts and super healing and the tendency to go into rage-monster mode once a month.

But this Derek was... even more beautiful than the norm.

And in Stiles' experience -- his broad and painful and horrifying experience -- the better looking the wolf, the more cruel and selfish they were likely to be.

Well, it was too late to change his fate now. He'd been purchased, despite the best efforts of everyone who _wasn't_ this Derek, and he was going to have to make the best of things.

His new owner was clutching him close right now, in the back of the smoothly purring car they were in, and Stiles suspected that the wolf didn't even know he was rumbling out a low, continuous growl deep in his chest. Stiles could feel the disapproval of the wolf in the driver's seat as though it was a blanket resting over top of him, but most of his attention was focused on the more immediate threat.

This close, he could _feel_ that his new owner possessed muscles upon muscles. Stiles was swimming in the wolf's clothing, and he didn't even feel ridiculous, he just felt as though he was being smothered, both by the oversized shirt he had on and the powerful arms locked around him.

His breath was coming sharp and shallow and he fought tooth and nail against the pending panic attack. If it overwhelmed him now his owner would only get more angry and hurt him even more.

Not that this Derek had hurt him yet. But Stiles knew it was only a matter of time, and he had no desire to hurry the hurting along.

"Relax," the wolf said, murmuring the word into the skin of Stiles' temple where he had his face pressed, even though Stiles' knew he needed to bathe and had to smell pretty stale. 

Suddenly there was a hand spread over Stiles' chest, right over his pounding heart. And it should have scared him more, should have made him think of fingers clenching and claws tearing through his clothes and flesh....

But this touch taken in conjunction with the command spoken in such a firm but gentle tone... actually did calm Stiles, immediately. 

He was stunned. Normally when he had a panic attack he just had to let it run its course, and he'd be lucky if he didn't come out of it roughed up by an angry owner who had no patience or understanding for such weaknesses.

Maybe his subconscious was finally learning some self preservation skills. That would be nice. Stiles would be totally okay with that.

Or maybe it was Derek... but Stiles didn't want to even consider that as a possibility. It wasn't as though his new owner was even an alpha; he was just a beta. The day Stiles accepted his owner as his master was the day he might as well kill himself and get it over with. 

To distract himself and avoid processing the fact that there was a wolf breathing hotly against his temple, right above his scar, Stiles looked down, chin lowered until he could see the hand on his chest.

And of course his beautiful new owner had gorgeous hands. He couldn't have gnarled paws or thick fingers. No, he had to have lean, elegant fingers with smooth skin, neatly kept nails, and a fine dusting of dark hair above each knuckle. There was more dark hair running down under his sleeve, his wrist strong but bony, somehow just as elegant as his fingers. 

Stiles swallowed thickly and closed his eyes. Those hands would be doing terrible things to him before the day was out, he was sure.

Even if Derek wasn't the sort of wolf to take sadistic pleasure in seeing how he could hurt Stiles, how badly he could make him suffer without doing lasting damage, he was still more than likely to punish Stiles if he was clumsy or did anything wrong.

And Stiles knew that he was too often clumsy, and he was constantly doing things wrong. Not even on purpose. Once, when he'd been very young, he'd been taken to a doctor for humans, and they'd done some tests and diagnosed him with something called ADHD. Stiles wasn't sure what those letters stood for, but he knew that it meant his brain worked differently than most people's, and he had trouble keeping focused on one thing... except for when he got hyper-focused and couldn't drag his attention off of that one thing and back to his surroundings.

Both of these only meant disaster when one was owned by short-tempered wolves, and Stiles did his best to work around his issues, but he still knew he had to expect the semi-regular beating for messing up what should have been simple tasks.

And if Derek wanted to fuck him.... No, Stiles really couldn't think about that right now. So far it hadn't happened, and Stiles knew his luck had to break at some point, but his new owner was beautiful and powerful. Why would he soil himself with a scrawny, scarred slave when he could probably attract any partner he desired from his own kind?

"We're here!" the wolf named Peter announced loudly as he pulled up to the curb and stopped the car. "That'll be ten-fifty plus tip."

Derek sneered and ignored the outstretched hand that his uncle held back, palm up, instead moving to reach around Stiles and open the door closest to the sidewalk. Stiles wasn't sure if he should try to help or keep perfectly still, but the latter seemed the better option so he froze and tried not to breathe too loudly.

"I assume you'll be telling your mother you purchased a slave today," the older wolf said, taking his hand back and twisting further in his seat so that he could watch them more closely.

Derek shrugged, jostling Stiles slightly. "Wasn't planning on it. She knows I was gonna have to get one." He glanced sharply at his uncle. "And I suspect you're going to be giving her a call of your own."

Peter smirked, and his face deeply frightened Stiles, but he tried not to show it. This older wolf was handsome, yes, but he looked as though he could be very cruel if he chose to be. And Stiles could tell that he already brought the worst out in him, by his mere presence.

But, then, this Peter never would have purchased Stiles in the first place; he'd made that abundantly clear. 

"Well, if you can't even be bothered to officially inform your alpha of the new addition to her pack, then I guess it's up to me," he said, and Stiles was pretty sure that his new owner should be nervous but Derek just grumbled out a half-hearted thanks and got both himself and Stiles out of the back seat with minimal effort.

Well, if he really was the son of his alpha, he probably enjoyed a little more leniency than more distant pack members would have. Stiles just hoped that his owner's neglect wasn't going to come back and bite Stiles in the ass. It seemed all too likely.

Peter called out a farewell from the car after Derek slammed the door shut, and within moments Derek and Stiles were up the walk and inside a very nice, upscale apartment building. One with a doorman outside and carpets in the lobby and the scent of flowers and fruit through the entire place. 

Stiles felt very ugly and dirty and out of place, and he was sure that the doorman had given him a disgusted glare as they'd walked past him. He'd greeted Derek pleasantly enough, though, and then Derek was keying in a code in the pad next to the elevator, its doors slid open, and they were on their way upward. Headed for Stiles' new home.

If you could call a prison cell with a dangerous warden "home", of course. Stiles considered it to be a gilded cage at best.

The inside of the elevator was carpeted too, the burgundy pile thick and soft under Stiles' bare feet, tickling his toes. The walls were mirrored, and Stiles tried not to see himself, keeping his gaze turned downward. He looked bad, he knew, but he looked even _worse_ standing next to a genetically gifted, beautiful werewolf, surrounded by luxurious interior design.

Fortunately, the trip wasn't a long one, and then they were out of the enclosed box and walking down a short hallway with only one door. Derek produced a minimalistic key ring with the hand not wrapped around Stiles' waist, holding him upright and close. Evidently there was no key pad here, just an old fashioned lock in the doorknob, and a deadbolt above it.

Once they were inside, Derek close and locked the door behind him, then dropped his keys into a bowl on a small table next to an actual real coat rack. 

No wolf who'd owned Stiles before had been prosperous enough for things like doormen, carpeted elevators, or _coat racks_. Stiles was more troubled by this obvious wealth than otherwise, because this was a disaster waiting to happen. If he broke anything here, whatever he broke was near certain to be worth more than he was. 

And flesh healed.

It was only long practice that kept Stiles from reaching up to touch the scar that marked the skin around his left eye. Wolves didn't like movements they hadn't in some way induced, and the last thing Stiles needed now was to piss off his new owner.

Right now... this was the most delicate time in new slave ownership, Stiles was well aware. He was in a wolf's home territory, and while his own human senses couldn't inform him, he knew that he reeked with "otherness". The smells of the vendor who had sold him, the other slaves he'd brushed up against during transport to the warehouse, and his own sweat and clinging body oils; these were all a part of him right now. And Stiles' personal odor -- which wasn't usually so concentrated and gross -- hadn't yet become familiar to his new owner's nose.

There were three different ways to overcome this situation. One was time. The longer Stiles spent here, in this apartment, the more he would smell like his owner, and the more the apartment would smell like him. 

Another was one that had already been set in motion; he had to wear clothing that smelled of his owner and allow his owner to scent mark him whenever and however he wanted.

And the third way... well, it held elements of that second method, but it was more immediate and could be accomplished in one brief act.

Well, first of all, before anything else, Stiles needed to bathe, to wash away all traces of the world outside this apartment. He was actually looking forward to that part; it wasn't as though he _liked_ to be covered in his own stink and a slowly thickening layer of grime.

But then there was the final aspect of being "marked" as owned. And that one involved Stiles getting a little more up close and personal with his owner than he usually preferred.

Still, it would be best to just get it over with. The sooner Stiles smelled like he belonged here, the less chance there was that his new owner's instincts would get the better of him and drive him to act as though Stiles was an intruder.

Evidently Derek's mind was moving along similar lines, because after he'd shrugged out of his jacket -- hanging it where it belonged on the coat rack -- he chivvied Stiles toward an absolutely humongous bathroom that was done all in white tile and chrome fixtures.

There was a bathtub sunk into the floor, large enough to fit at least two full-sized, fit wolves. There was a shower stall with a built-in seat and a frosted glass door. There were fluffy white towels stacked on a wicker basket in the corner that could have dried off a dozen wet bodies, and Stiles wondered pessimistically if he was going to be able to launder those without somehow fucking that up.

The room had no windows, but there was a wide skylight above their heads, letting golden sunbeams into the room. Stiles felt as though it should be night, dark and stormy, but it was actually only mid-afternoon, as the clock on the wall near the sink informed him.

"You've had a previous owner?" Derek asked gruffly, causing Stiles to start and drag his eyes away from his surroundings and back to the wolf who had purchased him.

Derek was glaring at Stiles in a way sure to raise his pulse and this did absolutely nothing to make him feel better about this whole thing.

Stiles nodded, wondering if this fell under the "don't speak unless spoken to" stipulation, wondering if it would make things easier or harder if he admitted to having had multiple owners before.... It wasn't as though it had been by choice, but wolves tended to be possessive, so he decided to keep that last fact to himself.

"Then you know what we both need to do now," Derek said, and he looked and sounded pained.

Stiles nodded again, then shrugged. He didn't really care. Getting pissed on was one of the least unpleasant things that the wolves he'd belonged to in the past had done to him.

Derek stared at him a moment, his eyes intense, and Stiles noted that his cheeks were pink and he almost seemed... embarrassed?

"It's better to do it before you bathe," Derek said, and Stiles blinked, a little surprised. It usually went the other way around, and he had to walk around reeking like a wolf's urinal until it was time for his next bath.

He wasn't going to lie and say he wasn't pleased by this turn of events.... But then, he wasn't planning on saying _anything_ , positive or negative.

"Take your clothes off and get in the bathtub," Derek directed, and now he was staring at a spot somewhere over Stiles' shoulder instead of meeting his eyes, still looking a little pink.

Stiles frowned, confused, but did as directed. Derek was in his twenties; surely he'd owned a personal slave before. So why was he acting as though this was all something new to him?

For the first time it occurred to Stiles to wonder what exactly had _happened_ to Derek's previous personal slave. If he'd been a wolf, he could have tried to pick up the scent in the apartment, maybe smelled blood or some other clue....

But then, if Stiles were a wolf he wouldn't be a slave, would he be.

Pondering what sort of horrible fate could have befallen Derek's last personal slave made Stiles feel cold, but he did as directed and stripped off the borrowed clothes he'd been wearing. His fingers failed him when he tried to untie the drawstring on the sweatpants, but Derek came to the rescue, undoing it with quick and easy movements.

Once Stiles had stepped out of the pants and shed his shirt, Derek plucked them off the floor and dumped them unceremoniously into a smaller wicker basket that was half hidden behind the door, his nose wrinkled in an expression of distaste.

Stiles was careful as he descended into the tub. There was steps, which surprised him a little since wolves wouldn't need those, but he knew that some designers _did_ take weaker human bodies into account, and he was definitely grateful for the aid.

The stress and fear of being sold to a new owner was beginning to wear on Stiles' body as well as his brain, and he literally couldn't remember the last time he'd had a real meal rather than scraps. His hands were shaking, his knees felt watery, and he was terrified he would slip and knock into a hard edge of the bathtub, potentially drawing blood and sending Derek into a rage aimed at him.

A lot of wolves liked to pretend they were so civilized, Stiles thought bitterly, as he made it safely to the bottom of the bathtub and knelt there, head bowed, the porcelain unforgiving under his shins and knees, but all it took was one wrong move, one irritation too many, one scent of human blood, and they turned into the beasts that he knew they all were.

This time Stiles _did_ reach up and trace his fingertips over the scar on his face, as a reminder, even though it was bad to let himself lapse like this. But his head was down, he could hear Derek moving around somewhere else in the bathroom, and Stiles was feeling exhausted and weary and weak. 

So far his new owner had not hurt him. But Stiles knew it was only a matter of time. Eventually he pissed _everyone_ off. And someday it was going to get him killed.

Great, there he went, getting grim and fatalistic. Stiles held back a sigh, exasperated with himself. His head was swimmy and he probably needed some food. Normally he wasn't so morbid. Yeah, he was cynical, he was a realist, but not to the point of accepting his own eventual death by the claws of an angry owner.

Stiles' head shot up in startlement as Derek leaped effortlessly down into the bathtub, landing lightly in front of him. He looked before he could catch himself and lower his gaze again.

His new owner was still beautiful, even more so when viewed from a kneeling position. His hair was dark and thick, he had artful stubble over a strong jaw, under perfect cheekbones. His eyes were wide-set and pale beneath dark, straight brows. Stiles couldn't be sure of their color -- sometimes they looked hazel, sometimes green, sometimes almost blue -- but they were clear and bright and intelligent. He had a slightly hooked nose with winged nostrils, and full lips, and if Stiles didn't know he was a wolf he would think he had a kind face.

No wolf could be kind. Stiles knew that, and he couldn't let himself forget it.

Derek was wearing a teeshirt and jeans now, no shoes or socks, and his feet looked long and pale, even against the white of the bathtub bottom, the more so because of the hair dusting their tops and his toes. He wasn't as hairy as some wolves, but he was more hirsute than, say, Stiles was.

Stiles wasn't going to dwell on the muscles exposed by the short teeshirt sleeves, or the strength of the thighs on his eye-level. The very last thing he needed to do now was to show any sexual interest in his owner. That would either get him fucked or get him fangs in his throat, and either prospect was beyond unpleasant.

"Head down," Derek ordered, as if Stiles wasn't already doing that. He moved around to stand behind Stiles, his feet squeaking softly on the smooth porcelain even though wolves usually moved almost completely silently. 

Stiles bent his neck as directed. Sometimes he forgot himself and met wolves in the eye, which was generally a really bad idea, but usually he had enough self preservation to obey the strictures of submission and body language that were the prudent thing to do when dealing with wolves.

And he was in no way up for a fight right now. He just wanted to get this over with, bathe, and get on with whatever his new owner was going to want him to do next.

The metallic rip of Derek undoing his fly made Stiles' shoulders tense in anticipation. Just because he didn't have any qualms about his owners marking him this way, that didn't mean he actually _liked_ it. He had never liked anything that his owners had ever done to him.

At least Derek didn't seem inclined to bite Stiles to mark him, though that might change after Stiles was clean. None of Stiles' previous owners had bitten him to mark him, but he'd seen plenty of slaves who bore the deep puncture marks of fangs, on their waists, at the wrist, or marring the napes of their necks. 

Stiles had scars. Aside from the worst one on his face, most of the rest of them were on his back where he couldn't really see them. Maybe that was why Derek had paused before cutting loose. It couldn't be because he was hesitant, or had a shy bladder, right? Wolves didn't get shy and they never hesitated.

"Don't move," Derek commanded, as though Stiles would be that dumb, and then _there_ it was, the stream of urine hitting the taut stretch of his shoulderblades and upper back, so hot it almost felt scalding. That was just because Stiles was chilled, though, he knew, especially kneeling on porcelain the way he was. 

He could visualize Derek, standing over him, cock in hand, hanging out of his jeans, and it should have been ridiculous in his mind's-eye, but instead he couldn't help connecting it with the sensation of hot piss cascading down his spine... and somehow... it _wasn't_ ridiculous.

Then it stopped, and Derek shifted, stepping gracefully around Stiles. 

"Up," he directed, and his voice was a little hoarse. Stiles interpreted this to mean he should lift his head rather than that he should stand, and so he did.

He kept his eyes closed, playing at being submissive, hoping that Derek wasn't about to piss on his face. It had happened before, and while Stiles didn't so much mind being marked this way he definitely didn't like getting a face-full of wolf urine.

It was pungent, noticeably more so than humans'.... Though as the stream started back up and -- thank fuck -- just hit him in the chest, Stiles could tell that Derek had been drinking a _lot_ of coffee earlier in the day. He had to fight not to smirk at this realization, because his face was raised and if Derek saw that expression on it Stiles doubted it'd go well for him.

The piss trickled over his collarbones, trailing down his stomach, and joined the rest of the mess on the bathtub floor. Mostly it was Derek's piss, but the hot liquid had washed some of the dirt off of Stiles' body, and it was slow making its way down the drain. Stiles hated being filthy and unkempt like this. The asshole that had sold him to Derek should never have been allowed to handle slaves.

And then Derek was done, leaving Stiles covered in his piss, which was rapidly cooling and causing him to shiver uncontrollably as he felt even more chilled than before they had begun. 

"Head for the shower," Derek commanded, still a little hoarse, tucking himself in and zipping back up, stepping away from the spreading puddle underneath Stiles. "Use my bathing supplies. I'll get you some fresh clothes to wear."

Stiles nodded, licking his lips, hoping he'd be able to get out of the tub without slipping now that he was all drenched on wolf piss. The thought of a hot bath and clean clothes appealed greatly, and he knew he was already safer now that he smelled like he belonged to his new owner. He wasn't going to let his guard down, not even for a moment, but he could only maintain his knife's edge of alertness for so long, and he was getting dangerously close to running on fumes.

"While you bathe, I'll order some pizza," Derek added, giving Stiles a weird, earnest stare, keeping it above the shoulders, a little crease between his thick, dark brows, his lips pressed together.

Stiles nodded again. He wondered if Derek meant pizza for both of them or just for himself. He hoped he would get some.... He was so hungry that he'd forgotten how to feel hunger; the gnawing ache was just a part of him now. It hadn't always been this way, he'd been well fed in the past even if his owners hadn't been generous. But recently he'd fallen on hard times; mostly due to his unfortunate inability to filter the words that popped out of his mouth.

Which was part of why he was trying _so hard_ to keep his lips closed right now. He couldn't say the wrong thing if he didn't speak, right? He could still _do_ the wrong thing, break items due to clumsiness, spill drinks, trip and bruise himself... but he would control his tongue. And maybe he could avoid some of the punishments he might otherwise call down on his own head.

Derek stared a moment longer, then his nostrils flared, he nodded once in return, and the next thing Stiles knew he'd leapt back out of the bathtub in one smooth movement.

It took Stiles quite a while longer than it had taken Derek, and he was terrified of dripping urine on the pristine floor on his way to the shower stall, but he eventually made it.

The steaming hot shower that he was able to take -- on his owner's orders, no less! -- made everything feel so much better. For at least as long as it took Stiles to get clean.

The rest of reality could wait until he was done. Right now, for a few precious minutes, Stiles was something approaching contented. With a frosted glass door between him and the rest of the world, steam surrounding him, hot water sluicing away the dirt and piss covering his body, and permission to use his new owner's shampoo and soap. It was the most physical pleasure Stiles had been allowed to feel in a long time, and the safety he was feeling was illusionary but so much nicer than the fear he'd been experiencing for so long.

Stiles knew to treasure these moments when he stumbled across them. And after the day he'd had, he valued this one all the more.

***

"You should have seen it," Peter grouched into the phone and Alpha Talia Hale couldn't help smiling fondly. She knew her younger brother and his tendency to be overly dramatic, but she also knew her son, and she strongly suspected that this time Peter wasn't exaggerating. Much.

"I'm glad that he's found someone he wanted," she said mildly, refusing to get drawn in by Peter's histrionics. "I didn't think that would ever happen."

"This slave is going to kill your son in his sleep," Peter snapped. "He'll slit his throat and run. The vendor said he was a runner."

Talia rolled her eyes, since Peter couldn't see her and get offended. "Derek would heal from a slit throat as long as wolfsbane isn't involved," she reminded her brother. "And if he was naked when Derek bought him, as you said, then there's very little chance he could smuggle some into Derek's apartment."

Then, because his worry over Derek's safety was real and touching, even if his delivery was more than a little overblown, she continued, "I'll go and check on them tonight. It's my right as Derek's alpha to meet the new family member."

Peter snorted, probably because he didn't consider slaves to be family members. Talia couldn't force him to change his mind on that, and she knew that Peter's personal slave was well taken care of and happy and had gotten to keep her real name, so she didn't push the issue. 

The Hales were notorious troublemakers where the subject of slavery was concerned. Peter tried to distance himself from that as much as possible, but that was difficult when his alpha regularly campaigned for better treatment and more rights for humans. More rights than _none_ , at this time, and there were only the most nominal of protections set up for the slaves, which were rarely enforced and never punished if broken. Right now humans weren't even recognized as living beings; they were items, to be considered as belonging to whatever werewolf had purchased them.

Right now _pets_ had more protection than human slaves had. Talia had been working to change that for all of her adult life, and someday her efforts would bear fruit. Someday. 

Her daughter, Laura, took a more direct approach, getting down in the trenches, so to speak, and because of that Talia hadn't so much as talked to her eldest in over a year. It hurt, to go without seeing her beta, her _child_ for so long, but Talia understood the need. If she was going to make any progress, she needed to distance herself from what Laura was doing. And since Talia Hale was an upstanding alpha, it probably worked to Laura's benefit to eschew the Hale name in turn.

A lot of werewolves considered their slaves to be family; it wasn't just the Hales who were so generous. And Talia was sure that Derek was already well on his way to thinking of his new personal slave that way, rather than just seeing him as a possession. Especially if any of what Peter had described to her was true.

"I think this boy might be just what Derek needs," she said, really just thinking aloud, but she knew that Derek was Peter's favorite, and that he cared greatly about his nephew even if he hid it behind smarmy smirks and barbed words. Peter had been almost as panicked as Talia when Derek had been held captive and tortured by that Argent bitch, he'd been the one to rescue and avenge him, and he was just as concerned about Derek's recovery now; part of the reason Talia had allowed him to take Derek slave shopping instead of going herself.

Well, that, and Derek was more likely to listen to Peter than to her. Though that had evidently proven not to be the case, since Derek had come home with a slave that Peter had strongly and vocally disapproved of.

"What do you mean?" Peter asked, and she took it as good sign that he'd calmed enough to voice the question in a curious tone of voice that was only slightly judgmental.

"You know as well as I do that Derek has been drifting, ever since the Argent thing," Talia said softly, her arms aching to hold her son even just thinking about that horrible debacle. "Unable to focus, unable to commit to anything, rejecting the tradition of choosing a personal slave for far longer than I should have let him get away with...."

"Well, to be fair, that last was partially Laura's bad influence," Peter couldn't help sniping. And he had a point. Her bold, willful daughter continued to fill Talia with mingled exasperation and pride.... She couldn't say so to anyone outside the family, and Peter certainly didn't want to hear it, but Talia Hale _agreed_ that no human should be enslaved. She just couldn't make this belief public without risking losing most of her influence and strength as a highly placed, deeply respected alpha. 

She could do more good where she was now, in a position of power.... But someday things would change, and on that day Talia was going to make sure that she and her family were all on the winning side.

Derek should have had a personal slave even before he had moved into his own place, some time between his eighteen and twentieth birthdays... but he had been in his last month of being seventeen years old when Kate Argent had gotten her hands on him. And after the torture and mental anguish that human bitch had put Derek through, Talia hadn't had the heart to insist that he welcome a brand new human into his life.

Besides, he hadn't moved out until a couple of months ago, and the family house had plenty of slaves -- some might accuse her of hypocrisy, but every human Talia purchased lived a healthy, safe life, and since she had yet to disband the entire practice, and couldn't give them their freedom, she did what she could for as many slaves as she could reasonably support -- so it wasn't as though Derek hadn't had slaves available to him if he'd needed them for any reason.

But now that Derek had his own place, he _needed_ his own personal slave. Not because it was tradition, not because there were things he couldn't do for himself, but largely because Talia didn't want him living completely alone.

"Derek needs something to challenge him," Talia said firmly, because she already knew how Peter felt about his niece, and they didn't need to sit here and rehash that when they were supposed to be discussing Derek.

"Well, this slave will definitely do that," Peter snorted. "Probably challenge him to the point of drawing blood."

Talia mulled that over. She loved her son, and she wanted Derek to succeed on his own, but.... "If you think he's really in danger, Peter, I can order him to move back into the house."

Peter sighed heavily. "I think Derek had bitten off more than he can chew, and I think he's made a huge mistake," he said in measured tones. "But this slave is probably a hundred pounds dripping wet and more scared than scary. He's clearly willful and rebellious, but he doesn't strike me as homicidal or suicidal, so he probably won't attack Derek. Not to the point that Derek couldn't defend himself, anyway."

"And I'll be checking on them tonight," Talia added. It wasn't tradition; normally the alpha stepped back and let their beta deal with things for close to a week. But normally a werewolf got their personal slave when they were still living under their parents' roof. Besides, Derek was her son and he'd chosen an unusual slave, so she could be excused for not standing on ceremony. She would, however, text Derek to let him know she'd be showing up.

"I just hope you're ready to accept a human as your son-in-law," was Peter's parting shot, and Talia lifted a brow as she hung up on her brother. 

That last was completely ridiculous, but Talia gave it a moment's thought, just in the abstract. She strongly suspected that Laura was in some kind of intimate relationship with the boy who had once been her personal slave -- who was now "free" in name, even if it wasn't possibly legally -- and Talia wasn't horrified by the idea of it. Peter would not have liked to hear it, but Talia actually wouldn't have had any problem with any of her children coming home with a human mate, just as long as this person made them happy.

Werewolf and human couples were so rare as to almost be a myth, and most of them lived on the east coast, but at least the concept wasn't completely unheard of.

Talia didn't think that was where Derek was headed -- he'd only just brought his slave home a couple of hours ago, after all -- but if he _did_ end up in a relationship with this mysterious human that had Peter's dander up, then he'd have all the support Talia could offer him as his mother and his alpha... and he would need it. 

If any werewolf started a serious relationship with a human they'd be ostracized by the majority of society. Derek probably wouldn't mind this -- he had withdrawn so far into his shell that Talia despaired of ever getting him to act like a normal person again -- but that didn't mean it wouldn't still make his life harder....

But that was a matter for the future, and Talia would have a better idea of what was likely or unlikely to happen once she'd met the boy. The immediate connection Derek had evidently felt had been suspect, but maybe Derek had just recognized a kindred spirit in the beaten and unbowed human, seeing echoes of the things Kate had done to him in what had been done to the boy.

Talia knew her son, and she thought that a dirty, scarred, damaged human slave might call to him more than a healthy, well taken care of slave would. So until she met the boy and saw them interact, she couldn't be sure of her son's motivation.

She sent Derek a quick text letting him know she'd be at his apartment at eight o'clock that evening and then left it at that. If he hadn't replied within a couple of hours she would call him, but she wasn't going to bother him unless it became truly necessary. The initial few hours of bonding were important for a werewolf and their first personal slave, and she didn't want to interrupt that with a phone call unless she had to. 

But Talia was the Hale pack alpha and as she had told Peter it was her right to meet the pack's newest addition, as well as the most recent family member. Even Derek, stubborn and backwards as he could sometimes be, had to recognize that.

And he did. Within three minutes Talia had a reply, a terse text that said he'd have dinner waiting.

So it would be more than a quick chat, Talia mused. Well, that was all right. Derek was her son and he'd been through a lot. He was doing remarkably well, all things considered, but it still made her anxious to think of him in his own apartment rather than in his old bedroom down the hall from Talia's suite. 

It was perfectly natural to want to check on him, and she was looking forward to a chance to get to know his new personal slave.

Peter disapproved and Derek had made the choice himself, so the human couldn't be too bad, right?

Well, she'd find out shortly. Just a few more hours and she'd be on Derek's doorstep. 

Just enough time for her to figure out the perfect welcoming gift for this human boy. Talia wanted to make sure he knew that he was welcome.

Some werewolves treated their human slaves like possessions, to be bought, broken, and discarded at whim. Some treated their human slaves like valuable resources and made sure they were happy and healthy. But some, like the Hales, took them in as members of the family and gave them the best lives they could have while still being slaves.

Talia Hale wasn't proud of the fact that she owned slaves, but she did her best by them. And she knew that Derek was going to be the same.

If this boy was important to Derek, then he would be important to her. And she was going to make sure he knew he was a member of the pack _and_ a family member.

Somehow she thought this boy, from the way Peter had described him, was not going to be easily convinced of this fact.

***

Derek growled, glaring at his phone screen, and then reined himself in when he saw Stiles flinch away from him out the corner of his eye.

It was his mother that was causing his annoyance, but Derek didn't feel like sharing that fact with his slave. He and Stiles were still strangers and Derek was leery of showing any sort of weakness before any slave.

Kate Argent hadn't belonged to the Hale family, but she'd been a slave. She hadn't taken Derek and tortured him out of any sense of revenge or as a statement about human slavery. She'd done it for fun and because she'd thought Derek was "pretty". 

Derek was mostly over the fear and vulnerability and pain she'd made him feel. And he actually thought that he was ready for his own personal slave; especially since it was Stiles. But that didn't mean he wouldn't still keep his guard up.

"Can you cook?" Derek asked, turning abruptly to look at Stiles, who was perched uncomfortably on the edge of the sofa. He'd been inclined to kneel at Derek's feet after emerging from the shower, but Derek had planted him firmly on the furniture and told him to stay there.

Stiles had cleaned up pretty well, Derek thought. His hair had been buzzed short very recently, dark over the curve of his skull. His features seemed sharper and the nasty bruise the vendor had given him stood out more now that he wasn't coated in dirt and grime. His skin was pale and dotted with moles that Derek found more fascinating than he probably should. There were more moles on his body, hidden under his clothes; Derek had seen them in the bathroom. Stiles had one mole on each shoulderblade and for some weird reason Derek found that to be strangely charming.

He was still swimming in Derek's borrowed shirt and another pair of oversized sweatpants, but at least he looked warmer, and Derek had made him put on a pair of socks. Stiles kept shivering and Derek knew it was only partially from nerves and hunger; part of it was because he was actually _cold_.

He smelled like Derek now, which was viscerally satisfying. Derek was a little embarrassed that he'd had to _piss_ on Stiles, even though it was a normal societal expectation.... It didn't always happen. Derek's mother had never had to do it with the family's slaves. But this was an extreme situation, Derek knew his instincts to be unreliable -- completely due to Kate -- and he was a first time slave owner in an apartment that he had never shared with another living being, and so he'd known it would be the best, quickest way to convince his more predatory side that Stiles belonged here....

It would also warn off any other werewolves that Stiles might encounter, letting them know he was already completely claimed. Not that Derek planned on letting him encounter any other werewolves any time soon. 

Except his mother, that was.

"I can cook," Stiles replied, so quietly Derek could barely hear. His voice was the same as Derek remembered, raspy and young, but he was pleased to hear it again. 

His lips were still slick with pepperoni grease, even though the two of them were done eating. Derek had belatedly thought that pizza might not be the best thing to feed someone who was undernourished to the point of being visibly gaunt, but he hadn't been able to think of anything else that delivered. At least not until after the fact, when it had been too late.

Stiles had eaten the pizza without complaint, which had pleased Derek's instincts to provide for his new pack member. Derek wasn't an Alpha, he didn't have the mindset for it, he would never _be_ the Alpha, barring something horrible happening to his entire family, but he still felt the overwhelming need to make sure his new slave was safe and healthy and well provided for.

Stiles hadn't reached for the pizza on his own, which Derek understood but hoped was a behavior that would change at some point. Still, when he'd pushed a plate with three slices into the boy's trembling hands, he'd eaten all of it. Derek didn't know how much was too much or not enough, but three generous slices had seemed reasonable.

"Can you cook real food?" Derek pursued, because Talia might be his mother, but she was also his alpha and this was his apartment, his own territory, still new and somewhat exciting, and Derek both wanted and needed to make a good impression.

Stiles nodded again, chewing on his lower lip, his gaze almost meeting Derek's but not quite, his hands working at the ends of the too-long sleeves of the shirt he had on.

He smelled like Derek now. His skin and hair bore lingering traces of Derek's piss, his shampoo, and his body wash. The clothing Stiles had on was clean but even laundering it hadn't washed away all traces of Derek's sweat, so that spiced Stiles' own scent. Derek liked it. His body odor mingled _perfectly_ with Stiles' own personal odor, which was infinitely more pleasant now that he wasn't filthy.

Derek wanted to pull Stiles close and bury his face in his neck, just breathe, but he sensed that if he did that he would completely panic the boy.

"Yes?" Stiles said it like his question instead of an answer, his eyes huge, his shoulders tense. He looked as though he was bracing himself for a blow, and Derek's eyes skipped to the bruise marring his cheekbone, and he wished he'd _damaged_ that vendor. But it was too late for that now, and he needed to make Stiles less afraid. Somehow.

"I have steak and green vegetables in the fridge," Derek told him. "You can cook steak, right?"

Stiles nodded more vigorously this time. "I can," he rasped with more confidence, and there was a little more color in his cheeks, but Derek could just _tell_ that he was still feeling cold. 

"Good." Derek would have cooked dinner himself, but he was pretty sure that both Stiles and his mother would disapprove if he tried. He did it all the time, for himself, but that was what having a personal slave was _for_ , after all. "My alpha is coming for dinner. You'll be cooking it."

Stiles went still and pale, and Derek sighed heavily. He'd fucked it up again, and he couldn't even say he didn't know how.

"Relax," he grunted, even though he knew his words would probably have the opposite effect. "Don't think of her as my alpha, just think of her as my mom."

As expected, that didn't really help. Stiles still looked hunted, terrified, and Derek couldn't stand seeing this or knowing that he'd put that expression on his slave's face.

"Come here," he said, rising to his feet and grasping Stiles by the upper arm. He held his phone in the other hand and led Stiles' into the bedroom.

He could hear the boy's heart beating a hard, almost violent tattoo inside his chest, his lungs wheezing for air, and he hoped he wasn't triggering another panic attack. It might be a bad idea, but Derek decided not to change his course of action, and he sank down onto his bed, dragging Stiles with him.

Still holding onto his phone, he used his free hand and his elbows and legs to get himself situated in the middle of his mattress, on top of the eiderdown comforter Peter had given him as a housewarming gift when he'd moved into the apartment, and to get Stiles tugged into his arms, back to his chest, holding the boy close the way he'd done in the car, the way he'd been wanting to ever since he'd gotten him in his home. _Their_ home, now.

Stiles was tight and tense, his breath still coming too fast, but when Derek did nothing more than hold him closely but carefully, not even nosing at his throat the way he wanted, the human began to infinitesimally relax.

"We're just going to take a nap," Derek murmured, raising his head and shoulders enough to peer around Stiles as he set the alarm on his phone. "For a couple of hours. If you can't sleep that's okay, but I want you to lay still and try to rest. Don't worry about making dinner; I'll help you. Don't worry about _anything_ , okay? Just relax and _be_."

He thought he heard Stiles give a muffled snort at that last, but to his credit the boy did try to do as he'd been directed. It was clearly an act of will when his entire body went limp, but that was even more impressive to Derek than if it had been natural. He felt a little bad about essentially forcing Stiles to relax, but he knew it was better for him and so he didn't really regret having done it.

Derek set his phone down close at hand and grabbed a pillow, tucking it under his head. Stiles' head was pillowed on one of Derek's biceps, and he intended for it to remain there. 

He settled in, spooning the boy, surrounded by the puffy comforter, sharing his body warmth as best he could. He wanted to roll and blanket Stiles with his entire torso, but that would probably freak him out and make him feel trapped. Not to mention, Derek weighed a considerable amount more than Stiles did, so it might physically harm him if Derek squished his fragile frame under his hard muscles.

Derek closed his arms carefully around that bony body, spreading one hand over Stiles' chest, feeling that his heart was still pounding. He could also feel the shivering that wracked the boy, and he hoped that his protective presence might begin to banish the shock and fear and chill that caused that reaction.

"What do you want me to do?" Stiles asked hopelessly, his voice tiny and broken.

Derek nuzzled the nape of his neck before he could stop himself. "Nothing," he replied. "I want you to let go of all expectations and just allow yourself to exist for a while. Sleep would be good, but only if it happens naturally."

Stiles ground out a weird rattling sound that Derek couldn't parse, but then he went silent, and he didn't tense back up, even when Derek kept his nose where it was, at the base of his skull, allowing himself to feel the softness of Stiles' hair, breathing in the complex fragrance of his clean skin, letting himself become familiar with how Stiles smelled....

After the morning he'd had -- waking early, enduring Peter dragging him out to look for a personal slave, picking out Stiles and bringing him home, marking him and feeding him -- and with the promise of a visit from his mother pending, Derek felt as though he needed this nap even more than the exhausted slave in his arms did.

Or, well, at least _as_ much.

Considering what had happened with Kate, if anyone had told Derek that he would be comfortable falling asleep with a human in his bed, in his arms, a human that he'd only just met for the first time a few hours ago, he'd have called them crazy. Maybe he was a little crazy for doing this.

But Stiles wasn't Kate and Derek's instincts knew that. Maybe he would wake up and the boy would be gone -- the vendor had said he was a runner, after all -- but if that happened then Derek would track him down and bring him home again.

He didn't think that was likely to happen, though. For one thing, if Stiles moved to pull away he would wake Derek. And for another... well, he just couldn't imagine Stiles fleeing from him, no matter how scared he was right now in his new home, no matter how willful he was. Derek could tell that Stiles was smart and he would know that getting out of the building, past the doorman, and disappearing into the town after having been purchased and marked by a member of a powerful pack would be nearly impossible.

Derek just hoped that Stiles could get some sleep and not spend the time between now and when his phone alarm went off internally freaking out. 

"Sleep," he murmured, pressing an open mouth briefly to the skin at the nape of Stiles' neck, then moving his lips away when this was the one thing that caused the boy to tense back up. Derek hadn't meant it as a kiss, and he wasn't going to bite, but he suspected that Sties was assuming the one or expecting the other.

It was weird, he thought sleepily, as he nestled into the insanely puffy comforter and his pillow, tucking Stiles in close, spooning him with a certainty he'd never had with a bedmate before, being able to smell the faintest lingering traces of his piss on Stiles' skin, bitter under the rich glaze of cleaning products and the salt of the boy's sweat. But it wasn't a bad thing.... 

It had been hard for Derek to make himself mark Stiles that way, but he was glad he had. 

It wasn't that he was squeamish about bodily functions; he was a werewolf, after all. But he'd always been a little more reserved about anything that rang of intimacy... and after what Kate had done to him that had only gotten worse, not better.

But he'd done it, Stiles hadn't minded, and now he had staked his claim on the boy in a way that his mother was going to have to acknowledge.

Derek realized with a vague sort of surprise that he was actually a little anxious about Mom meeting Stiles. And not as his alpha, but as his mother. Peter thought that she would disapprove the same as he'd done, but Derek desperately wanted her to see what he saw in Stiles. And if he could buy them all some time by marking Stiles in a traditional manner, then that was what he was willing to do.

Anyway, he thought, burrowing his nose into the hollow behind Stiles' ear, breathing contentedly, feeling his pulse slow and his limbs go loose and heavy, contentment washing through him, he had done what he'd needed to do and he liked the way it smelled on Stiles. A little bitter and acrid, but the boy had washed most of it off in the shower and what was left wasn't enough to offend anyone's senses. Hell, Stiles wouldn't even be able to smell it with his human nose.

Derek drifted off, hoping that Stiles felt even a fraction as hopeful and good about their new living situation as he did... but sadly aware that he probably didn't.

When his alarm went off -- with a truly obnoxious pop song blaring from its tinny speaker, thanks a lot Cora -- Derek startled awake and cursed, grabbing his phone and fumbling his hands together around Stiles, who was still in his arms, resting back against his chest, and dismissed the alert.

"Sorry," he yawned, scrubbing at his eyes and glaring at the edge of the bed which was so very far away. Stiles had gone tight and stiff again, not that Derek could blame him. The room was darker than when he'd fall asleep and they needed to get up and start dinner soon.

When Stiles didn't respond, not that Derek had really expected him to, Derek reared up, leaning over and around him to look him in the face.

"Did you sleep at all?" he asked. Stiles was heavy-lidded and his cheeks were a blotchy pink, which Derek thought indicated he'd been at least dozing, but he couldn't be sure. Human physiology was something of a mystery to Derek.

Stiles stared at him silently, lips pressed together tightly, and Derek was suddenly convinced that he was considering what answer his owner would most like to hear.

"Truth," he growled, then stated the obvious, which he was sure Stiles already knew, "I can hear in your heartbeat if you lie to me."

He would also be able to smell it, once he got to know Stiles better and knew what his normal scent was. But right now Stiles _always_ felt on edge and fearful. Derek really wanted to change that.

Maybe growling and demanding an answer hadn't been the best way to settle Stiles' mind, Derek realized ruefully, but it was too late now.

Stiles nodded jerkily. "A little," he coughed out, and it sounded as though his throat hurt. Derek squinted. The flesh of his neck looked flawless and undamaged, but he strongly suspected that this wasn't the way the boy naturally sounded. 

Before he thought better of it, he palmed Stiles' throat, fingers curling around his skinny neck. He realized how this might seem to Stiles when he felt him swallowing convulsively, even before he saw the dilation of his pupils and the way his expression went blank and the stench of abject terror suddenly flooded his system and soured his scent.

"Sorry," Derek blurted, pulling his hand away immediately, heaving himself backward and away from the boy. "I was-- I just wanted to see if there was any pain I could take from you."

He sometimes forgot that to a lot of humans a werewolf's hands could be deadly weapons. He would never hurt Stiles like that, but the boy had no way of knowing this with as much as certainty as Derek knew it. 

He felt a little sick, remembering how Peter had ripped out Kate Argent's throat. It should have been either Derek's right or his alpha's, but since Peter had been the first one to find Derek, where he was strung up and writhing in agony, and he'd been so overcome with protective rage, he'd been the one to do it. Derek had been too weak, and Peter hadn't been able to wait for Talia to get there. It had been in the heat of the moment, and so no one had blamed him for claiming the kill that should have been Talia's or Derek's.

If he was honest, Derek was glad it had been Peter and not himself _or_ his mother.... Even though he knew that she could be ruthless when necessary and would do _anything_ to protect her children, he hadn't needed to _see_ his mom do something so violent. Not even to someone he had so much cause to hate.

But Derek recalled the gristly mess that had remained where Kate's white throat had once been, the flesh and sinews torn almost down to her spine, Peter not taking any chances, and this visual superimposed itself over Stiles' neck, and it made Derek feel ill and almost as frightened as Stiles clearly was.

"I'm going to...."

He clambered off the mattress and stood beside the bed, scrubbing his face. 

"Sorry," he said again, letting his arms fall to his sides. He hadn't really been expecting a verbal response, but when the silence dragged on for several heartbeats, he dared a look at Stiles.

He was still laying on his back, sprawled where Derek had left him, his thighs fallen open, his arms wide. Derek took a little comfort in the fact that he hadn't curled up in a protective ball or anything, but he was a little distressed by the look on Stiles' face.

It... It wasn't _fear_. It was... confusion? 

"Um." Derek cleared his throat and licked his lips, trying not to expose the anxiety he was feeling. He didn't know how to make this better, and so he decided to just ignore what had happened.

"Can you hand me my phone?" he requested, gesturing to where it had fallen out of his hand when he'd scrambled off the bed.

Stiles blinked at him slowly. Maybe he was shocky, Derek worried. He shouldn't have... he should _never_ have put his hand on Stiles' throat like that! There was no trust between them yet, and so it was only natural for Stiles to interpret it as a potential threat.

Derek bit his lip, considering that he might have broken Stiles... but after another moment, the boy stirred, rolling toward the phone in question, his movements clumsy in the fluffy give of the eiderdown, and he gingerly picked it up.

His heart was pounding, hard and fast, and Derek felt even worse. It occurred to him that Stiles, suspicious and fearful as he was, might think this was a test, or maybe even a trap. It wasn't, obviously. Derek just needed his phone, and he didn't want to scare Stiles more by moving toward him.

It occurred to Derek belatedly that he could have waited until Stiles had left the bed, _then_ retrieved his phone. Oops. Oh well. 

Before he could rescind the request, Stiles was holding the phone out to Derek, hand trembling but arm straight. 

"There's no pain," he rasped as Derek gingerly took it from him, being careful not to brush Stiles' fingers with his own and automatically checked it for missed calls or new texts. There wasn't anything and he quickly returned his attention back to Stiles. He watched as Stiles lifted his hand and wrapped long, spindly fingers around his throat the way Derek had done. "Here," he clarified.

"I'm glad," Derek said, nodding, though he still didn't think the husk to Stiles' voice was natural. Maybe he should try to make him an appointment with Dr. Deaton. The man was the Hale pack Emissary, but he also treated any of their slaves who became unwell or somehow hurt themselves. In fact, it would be neglectful and selfish if Derek _didn't_ take Stiles to see the doctor, even though the possessive side of him bristled at the idea of anyone else's hands on the boy.

Stiles was still looking at Derek like he couldn't understand the words coming out of his mouth, and Derek wondered if he'd ever been apologized to by a werewolf. The dramatic scar on his face that had almost cost him his eye, and the thinner but noticeable scars that marred his bony back would indicate... not.

Derek bit back a sudden urge to apologize to Stiles for all the abuse he'd clearly suffered at the hands -- and claws -- of other werewolves. For one thing, it wasn't his place to do so. For another, Stiles wouldn't _believe_ him and would only look for another meaning of his words. And, anyway, Derek was Stiles' _owner_ now. He couldn't show such weakness, even if he really wanted to.

"Freshen up in the bathroom if you need to," he instructed, because he was suddenly worried that Stiles wouldn't even take a piss if he wasn't given permission, "And then come join me in the kitchen."

Stiles blinked once than nodded vigorously, his face falling into a much easier expression than the one he'd been wearing before.

Derek kind of hated that it took him giving Stiles a clear order to calm the boy down, but....

Well, he couldn't expect miracles to happen. After all, he hadn't recovered immediately from what Kate had done to him. He'd had therapy, he'd spent months inseparable from either his mother or Peter, and in some ways he still wasn't one hundred percent recovered. He hated to admit that last, but he knew it was true. And he didn't know if he'd ever be completely over it. 

He'd healed, though, and was working toward a new sort of normal for him. And maybe as he made the effort, he could drag Stiles along with him, and make things better for the boy.

The alternative was that they were both miserable with one another for the rest of their lives, and that wasn't an acceptable option as far as Derek was concerned.

Stiles nodded, scooting carefully toward the edge of the mattress, and Derek wanted to stay, was reluctant to walk away from his new personal slave, but he needed to give Stiles a little space right now.

Besides, his mother would be here in about an hour. Derek needed to clean up the pizza detritus -- sure that she would disapprove of his choice for his new slave's first meal in his home -- and get the steak marinating. Stiles would be doing the actual cooking, but Derek knew how his mom liked her meat seasoned. 

But as he went into the kitchen and set to work, he also listened to Stiles' heart beating the whole time the boy used the toilet and washed his hands, splashing his face with water and then letting out a coarse little curse that made Derek grin fondly when he most likely got his collar or sleeves damp.... 

These small sounds made something in Derek's heart feel warm and full, and for the first time since he'd moved into it, the apartment felt like _home_ to him. 

Peter probably would have laughed at him for this, Derek thought, but his mother might understand. He wanted her to understand. He wanted her to like Stiles as much as he did.

Stiles was family now, and Derek needed his alpha, his _mother_ to acknowledge that. 

Of course, he also had to convince Stiles of that.... But that was going to take longer and be quite a bit harder, Derek suspected. He was determined, though, and he wasn't going to give up on either of them.

***

Peter hadn't exaggerated, Talia thought as Derek let her into his apartment, taking her coat then leading her into the living area, and she got her first look at his new personal slave, but his words had in no way done justice to the reality.

Her first instinct was to _feed the boy_ \-- much and often and as healthy as possible -- because he was nothing but a shivering jumble of skinny limbs and stark cheekbones, the lines of his jaw etched sharply enough to look as though they could slice the wind.

But it was the huge brown eyes, thickly lashed, full of mingled fear and defiance that caught and held her attention, telling her exactly why Derek had insisted on purchasing this battered boy and bringing him home; even though he was clearly far from ideal.

Most humans, especially those who were marketed as personal slaves, were reasonably well taken care of, they were settled into their place in life, they had been trained and usually not too badly damaged, and so taking one home was completely safe.

This boy... he wasn't safe. 

Talia agreed with Peter that he was unlikely to attack Derek, and that he would be easily enough subdued if he tried it. But she also agreed that the potential, however minor it might be, was clearly there.

For one thing, he was boldly meeting her gaze, staring at an alpha even before official introductions had been made by his owner, Derek. That wasn't something that human slaves _did_. 

After a couple of seconds, he seemed to realize his mistake, and his eyes abruptly went wide and panicked and he slammed them shut, bowing his head down so fast and so far that his thin neck looked like it might snap. He was trembling, and Talia could only assume that he had been often abused by werewolves, for his reaction to be that immediate and that fearful. While it was true that he had made and maintained eye contact with an alpha when it was deeply unwise to do so, there was nothing in Talia's expression or body language that was in any way threatening.

So he merely expected punishment and violence as a matter of course. Talia frowned slightly, sad for the boy, but now even more worried over Derek's choice.

She loved her son, and she knew that he needed a challenge, but this slave needed _fixing_ , and Derek was still healing from the damage Kate had done to him. Talia wasn't sure he was in a good place to try and heal someone else.

It was as though she'd sent Derek to the pet store and he'd come home with a feral wild animal from the forest. She was pretty sure there hadn't been a single other slave on offer in the warehouse earlier that day that would have been _less_ well suited to being a personal slave.

But this was who Derek had chosen....

And it was obvious that there was nothing Talia could do short of _ordering_ him to give up his new personal slave would make Derek in any way inclined to let go of this human boy. Their scents were already mingled, in the apartment, on the slave's body and clothes, and all over Derek as well.

Derek was watching her warily, ready to leap between her and his new slave, and Talia raised one brow a little judgmentally, silently asking him, _"really?"_

At least he had the good grace to look embarrassed, and he relaxed his tense stance, but he stayed standing between his mother and his personal slave in a manner that was so far from subtle that it was laughable.

Talia didn't feel like laughing, though. She wanted to trust Derek, that he had made the right choice, that he knew what he was doing, that this was going to work out for the best.... But she was going to need more convincing than this initial interaction.

"Derek," she said, her tone formal, but her hands outstretched, calling him in. He came to her arms readily enough and she hugged him tightly. "I'm so proud of you," she murmured in his ear, patting his back. He'd done as directed, gone out and chosen his own slave, and he hadn't forced Peter to do it, or made it necessary for his alpha to assign him one.

She _was_ proud of Derek. And thinking about what he'd suffered at Kate Argent's hands had made her feel needy and protective over her son, so a loving embrace had been necessary. But, additionally, she wanted to show Derek's new slave by actions rather than words that she was a kind alpha, one who looked after her pack. She had no idea who'd owned him before; the papers Peter had delivered to her had been sketchy as hell and she was having the pack lawyer look into it right now. They stated that he had belonged to three previous owners without listing names, and while that wasn't illegal, it was in a pretty gray area. 

Still, even without names, the scar on the boy's face, his emaciation, and his general demeanor, all of that indicated that he'd never known a kind owner, or if he had he hadn't been with them long.

"Now introduce me to the newest family member," Talia ordered gently, pushing Derek away and smiling at him before turning her attention to the boy hunched near the sofa. His papers had said he was sixteen, close to seventeen, but apart from his height, she would have assumed him to be younger. Maybe it was the turned-up nose, maybe it was how thin he was, but he didn't look sixteen. Talia was glad to see that he wasn't _aged_ beyond his years, though, as happened to some who endured hardships; especially humans, who were so fragile.

The boy's eyes shot up at the word "family", though he caught himself and only stared at Talia's chin. She read disbelief and incredulity in the way his thick, winging brows arched, but he only bit his lip and remained silent.

"Mom, this is Stiles," Derek said, stepping back toward his slave, reaching out as though he wanted to touch him, but stopping himself. Talia was proud of him for his restraint, but she still foresaw the potential for disaster in this entire situation.

That wasn't the name that was on the paperwork Peter had brought her, but it was close enough to the boy's family name that Talia figured it was a nickname. Whether it had been given to him by his parents or claimed by the boy himself, she couldn't know, but Peter said he had given it to Derek when requested, and that counted for something.

"Hello, Stiles," she greeted with a warm smile, and this was where he had permission to meet her eyes, but he just swallowed and nodded, keeping his gaze about on level with her shirt collar.

"Stiles," Derek took another step closer to his new slave, though he still didn't touch him, "This is my mother and our alpha, Talia Hale."

Talia had been expecting at least a hint of recognition, because the Hale pack was large and well placed and politically important, but what she hadn't expected was for Stiles' to jerk his gaze abruptly up to her eyes, then snap it over to Derek, his face going completely white -- and he had already been dangerously pale -- his mouth falling open in what looked an awful lot like horror.

Talia might have taken offense, if whatever was going on in Stiles' head hadn't been so obviously deadly serious to him. He provided a further distraction when his knees buckled and went out from under him. 

Derek lunged, attempting to catch the boy as he crumpled, and Talia could have told him that wasn't going to end well. But she didn't have time to speak out, and so all she could do was watch helplessly as Stiles jerked violently back away from Derek and ended up hitting the floor in a flailing tangle of lanky limbs, then skittered back away from them both across the carpet.

"Derek," Talia said, keeping her voice at a low volume in an attempt to avoid further spooking the young slave, who was by now up against the sofa in an attempt to get away from his owner, "Stand down."

Since this order had the force of his alpha behind it, Derek did as she'd directed, even though it was clearly against his natural instincts. He froze, dragging his attention away from Stiles and glaring fiercely at her. As if that expression on his owner's face was going to do anything to calm the panicking boy.

Talia took charge, not wanting everything to devolve into disaster; not any more than it already had, anyway. Stiles was scared of her, the more so once he'd heard her name, but now that he knew what pack Derek belonged to he was even more terrified of her son, for whatever reason.

So it would be better for Stiles if it was Talia who tried to calm him, no matter how much it was going to piss Derek off.

"I hear what are probably some potatoes about to boil over in the kitchen," she said, meeting Derek's gaze evenly, not giving an inch. She could compel him, but she'd much rather he see reason and go under his own volition.

For a long moment it seemed as though Derek was going to fight her on this, but she maintained her stare, and eventually his shoulders slumped and he went. Talia knew he was going to be listening to every word, but that was as it should be. Stiles was his personal slave; Derek was responsible for his health and well being. 

He could trust her, though. Not only as his alpha, but also as his mother.

And as a mother, Talia's heart ached a little as she knelt gracefully and sat down beside Stiles on the floor, not close enough to threaten him, and careful not to box him in. She didn't know him yet, had only just met him, but he was about the same age as Cora, he was scarred and battered -- Peter had informed her about the vendor who'd struck him and she could see the dark bruise marring one cheekbone -- not to mention Derek clearly already valued him deeply. She was an alpha first and a mother second, but she _was_ a mother, and Stiles was family now.

She gave him a small smile, and was encouraged to see that his eyes settled on her face, tracking her expression. There was still too much white around the warm brown of his irises, but he was at least _seeing_ her, was no longer in a blind panic.

"It's all right," she told him, as soothingly as she could manage, using the tone she used to comfort a child with a scraped knee rather than the commanding voice of an alpha. "It really is, Stiles."

He flinched with her use of his name, drawing his knees up to his chest, his gaze falling to the floor between them. This wasn't ideal -- he was in a defensive position and wasn't meeting her eyes any longer -- but his heart wasn't beating quite as quickly, his breath coming a little easier.

Talia remained quiet, sharing his space without demanding anything from him for several minutes, allowing him to get himself under control. She was intelligent and empathetic, and she suspected she knew what had set Stiles off, but she wasn't going to ask him any questions until she could be sure it wouldn't drive him deeper into his obvious distress.

She could hear Derek banging around in the kitchen, frustrated and feeling banished, but obeying her subtle directive and staying out of the way for the moment. He'd dealt with the potatoes and was setting coffee to brew, keeping himself busy.

Finally Talia felt like it was safe enough to speak, but she wasn't going to tackle the subject head-on. She knew better than that.

"I'm happy to meet you," she said quietly, speaking the truth, and gaining a startled glance from Stiles that melted into a frankly incredulous expression. 

She smiled broadly, not trying to hide her amusement. "No, I am," she insisted. "I'm always happy to meet a new member of the pack."

Stiles nodded jerkily, then shifted his eyes away again. His spidery-thin fingers were plucking at the hem of the sweatpants he had on, the nails bitten down to the quick. He was wearing a pair of Derek's socks that she could recall buying for her son a few years ago, fuzzy and patterned with white and red stripes. They'd been something of a joke and clearly Derek hadn't worn them in the time between then and now, but he'd put them on his personal slave.

Talia felt an unaccountable surge of affection for and protectiveness over Stiles. She still didn't know him, and if he tried to hurt Derek she would end him. But he was so vulnerable and his scent blended shockingly well with Derek's.... He already smelled like family, but she wasn't going to be rash and tell him so. She doubted he'd take it well.

Instead she leaned forward a little, reaching over and carefully, calmly claiming his nearer hand, holding it lightly. 

"You're pack now," she reminded him, still foregoing the word "family" but thinking it. "You know that."

Stiles frowned down at his knees, then his eyes slanted sideways to meet hers cautiously. 

"A piece of property can't be a pack member," he whispered, his voice tight and a little hard to understand. He tried to pull his hand back, but Talia refused to let him go and he didn't persist. She wasn't going to mark him the way Derek had done, but she _did_ have to make sure he bore her scent before she left tonight.

She heard Derek drop something in the kitchen, but ignored that as she considered how best to reply. 

"In the Hale pack," she said, not missing how he blanched at the name, "Each slave is considered a family member, not merely a piece of property."

"A family member who can be signed away for money," Stiles mumbled, still not looking at her but no longer fighting to retrieve his hand.

"In theory," Talia allowed, clasping his wrist with her free hand, making sure her scent was present on his skin. Marking him where his blood was surging close to the surface. He did have a point, because he did _belong_ to the Hale pack, but there was so much more to it than that. "Stiles, we've never sold a slave once purchased, and we don't consider them to be possessions. Humans are individuals, and their lives have as much value as werewolves' lives do."

That had probably been too much, even though it was the truth, because the look Stiles turned on her was completely and utterly incredulous.

She shrugged easily, withdrawing her touch now that she'd not-so-subtly marked him with her scent. She'd also been hoping that holding his hand might calm him, but if anything it had had the opposite effect. He just didn't now her well enough to allow himself to be comforted.

"We'll set that aside for now," she declared confidently. "You'll find that it's true as time passes and we prove ourselves to you."

He looked back down at his knees, his expression so deeply sad that Talia's heart broke for him. It was obvious that he didn't believe her, and she was pretty sure he _wasn't letting_ himself believe her, unwilling to allow himself to hope that this time his owner might be different.

"Derek isn't going to hurt you," she murmured, leaning in even closer, wanting to pull the boy into her arms and give him the kind of warm embrace he so clearly needed, but knowing it wouldn't be welcome. "You heard what happened with Argent?"

Stiles didn't respond, but his shoulders had gone tense and tight and he was swallowing convulsively. Talia was fairly certain that she could surmise what had sent him into a wild panic when he had placed Derek's name together with the Hale name.

"Derek grew up respecting slaves," Talia continued quietly, speaking smoothly, hoping against hope that her words would process and that Stiles might, _might_ believe them. "The action of one rogue human didn't undo all of that. He's not going to take his revenge on Kate by torturing you."

In the kitchen she could hear Derek suddenly sit down heavily with a screech of chair legs on tile and a low sound of anguish, and she wanted to go in there and hold him close, comfort him, but now Stiles was looking at her with wide eyes that were awash with tears and she knew that she needed to focus on the human first. Derek was her son and her priority, it was true, but his new personal slave was in a very precarious place and she needed to see this through before she went to Derek.

Right now she needed to be an alpha first and a mother second, even though it was hard when she could hear and sense how distressed Derek was. 

Sties shook his head slowly, still staring at her, and he sniffed but none of the tears broke free, even though his lashes were wet and starred around his big brown eyes.

"You're safe here," Talia insisted, dropping the topic of Kate as much for herself and Derek as for Stiles. She wasn't sure if Stiles was shaking his head because she'd gotten him wrong -- unlikely -- or if it was because he didn't trust her assurances -- far more likely -- but nothing would be gained by harping on the subject. "That same way you are not like Kate Argent, Derek isn't like your previous owners."

And, okay, evidently she hadn't been quite done with the subject. But that was all she was going to say on the matter.

She could smell coffee, and Stiles' pulse had calmed to almost normal levels. Talia suddenly felt the need to see her son again, to be able to _see_ that he was safe and happy here in his own home, with his new personal slave, no matter how problematic Stiles might prove to be.

Switching to official alpha mode, Talia stood and reached down, lifting Stiles to his feet. He propped himself against the sofa, trying hard to hide this fact, and Talia made a mental note to make him an appointment with Deaton, preferably for tomorrow. He needed a full checkup -- most personal slaves came with documents proving that they'd seen a doctor within the last year, but of course the vendor who'd sold Stiles to Derek hadn't had anything of the kind -- and she'd be stunned if Deaton didn't give Derek a meal plan crafted to help an undernourished human regain his health and weight.

She could smell that Derek had fed the poor child _pizza_ after getting him home, of all things, and hadn't even ordered a salad with it, but at least there would be meat, vegetables, and potatoes for dinner.

"Stiles," she said, getting back to the introductions that had been interrupted when Stiles had found out Derek's family name. "Welcome to the pack. We're happy to have you, and I'm very pleased to know that someone will be here to look after Derek for me."

Stiles blinked at her, and he didn't resist as she took both his hands in hers and moved in to rub his cheek with hers -- the side that wasn't bruised -- and then nosed at his temple. Some alphas required that a slave submit to having their throat symbolically exposed and lightly bitten, but Talia took that as a sign of weakness rather than a show of dominance, and besides, Stiles wasn't in a good mental place for that.

"I have something for you," Talia said, letting his hands drop and stepping back.

Derek appeared, moving silent as a shadow, and he looked trepidatious and anxious, which he never ought to be in his own home, but Talia was touched that he cared so much about Stiles' mental well being that he was hanging back and not yet approaching him even though he clearly wanted to.

Stiles startled a little when Derek slowly moved into his periphery, but he remained where he was, still and silent. He was tense but didn't seem inclined to panic or flee....

Talia wished that Stiles could look at Derek and see the abused little boy that she saw. It was true that Derek was and adult now, he was completely healed physically, and he was doing worlds better mentally and emotionally. But the very notion that he might visit on anyone else the pain that Kate had inflicted on him....

Well, Talia knew better. She knew her son. But he was a stranger to Stiles, and Stiles was also an abused little boy inside. Outside, as well, because he had yet to heal physically. He'd been betrayed by those who should have protected and treasured him, and now he saw danger in every werewolf. She couldn't blame him -- she imagined that letting his guard down in the past would only have resulted in more trauma -- but she did wish she could find the right words to convince Stiles that the Hales were different.

Only time would make that change, though. Talia loved Derek and trusted that he meant well, but she worried that he would get his heart broken if he never managed to win Stiles over. She still wasn't sure he was properly equipped to deal with such a damaged personal slave.

She was as concerned as Peter was, but for different reasons.

Still, it hadn't even been a full day yet. Stiles might be terrified of werewolves -- and Derek in particular now -- but he was also covered in Derek's scent, so at some point Derek had managed to coax him close... and Talia knew her son and knew that he wouldn't have _forced_ Stiles into any physical contact.

So there _was_ hope. But she thought that she was going to need to keep an eye on the situation. From a distance, so that Derek didn't get his back up and Stiles didn't get paranoid. But there wasn't anything unusual about an alpha being involved in the lives of her pack member and his personal slave. Especially not when said pack member was said alpha's beloved son.

Derek hovered as Talia went back to her jacket and fetched a medium-small box out of its pocket.

She hadn't wrapped it, and she was glad for that fact considering the trembling of Stiles' hands and his chewed-down nails. He accepted it with a confused look when she pressed it on him, long fingers curling around its edges, his wide eyes fixed on her face.

"An alpha's gift to a new family slave isn't a tradition," Talia explained, because it was clear that Stiles had no idea what was going on, "But it's not uncommon, and it's a Hale pack tradition."

Stiles' face flinched when she spoke the word "family" and his shoulders hunched at the name "Hale", but Talia just smiled reassuringly at him, and nodded at the box.

"Open it," she instructed, careful to speak warmly even though it was very clearly an order.

Derek was edging closer and closer to Stiles, and it made Talia's heart ache to see him so nervous when he'd clearly been feeling fairly confident with the boy when she'd first arrived, but after Stiles' reaction to finding out who Derek really was, she couldn't blame her son for dialing things way back. At least until they all got the ground firmly beneath them again.

The box had a little latch, nothing elaborate, but Stiles still fumbled with it, made clumsy with nerves, probably overly aware of two sets of werewolf eyes on him.

"Here," Talia offered, taking a step forward and taking it gently from him, holding it in her palms, letting Stiles open the lid and explore. 

He glanced up at her, thick lashes fluttering, chewing on his lower lip until it was red, smelling of anxiety but not fear. She took that as progress.

Right now she would take _any_ progress she could see.

Once he wasn't trying to balance the box in one hand, Stiles had an easier time thumbing the latch and then he raised the lid, though not without a few swift glances up at Talia. She wasn't sure what he was looking for, but she made sure to keep her expression neutral, friendly, and maybe a little indulgent; as nonthreatening as she could manage.

Inside the box rested two thin wristbands formed of braided leather, one of them just a little bigger than the other.

"That one is for you," Talia said, freeing one hand and pointing at the smaller one. "The other is for Derek. Neither of you _have_ to wear them, but I thought they'd be handy for when you leave the apartment. This," she picked up the smaller band and turned it upside-down, indicating a small stainless steel panel on its underside, "Contains a panic button. You can pry it open and that will set off an alert in Derek's wristband. It will also activate a GPS tracking system."

She glanced over at Derek, who was staring at the wristbands in fascination. "It would hardly be helpful to know Stiles was in danger if you had no way to find him."

Stiles looked conflicted, and _he_ was eyeing the wristband in Talia's hand as though it was something with fangs that might or might not bite him.

"The GPS doesn't come online unless you trigger it," Talia assured him. "And as I said, you're not required to wear them."

"You don't think Stiles would ever be in any danger, do you?" Derek asked, finally speaking aloud for the first time since he'd introduced Talia to Stiles. "No one has ever hurt any of our slaves... right?"

"No," Talia said, feeling a swell of pride in being able to speak the words. Derek might have been kidnapped right out from under her nose, a fact which still stung for so many reasons, but they hadn't lost a single slave in all the time Talia had been alpha, for any reason other than illness. "The Hale name is enough to keep any human in our pack safe. But it never hurts to be prudent."

She did _not_ add that this gift had been chosen with Derek in mind as much as Peter's dire warnings about Stiles. Thanks to her younger brother she'd known even before she met Stiles that he moved and smelled like prey, and some more impulsive werewolves might react to that even if they knew he was under Hale protection. But the alarm and GPS were for Derek was well. She'd also been made aware by Peter of how immediately possessive of the boy Derek had been, and as Derek's mother and alpha she knew how uncertain and anxious Kate's capture and torture of her son had rendered him.

Derek hid it well, of course, and he'd even managed to make a major move toward independence in getting his own apartment. But Talia knew that he'd feel better knowing that Stiles had this wristband.

 _If_ he ever put it on, that was. Talia wasn't going to push that choice on him, and she didn't think Derek would either.

"At any rate," she said, taking the box back and closing it, "This is my welcoming gift to you, and I hope that if you have any needs you'll make them known to Derek so that he can pass them along to me."

There wasn't a chance in hell of that happening, she was well aware, but she had to speak the words. Maybe someday Stiles would trust in them, trust in her.

Maybe someday he would trust in Derek.

"Do I smell coffee?" she prompted, smiling warmly at Stiles, then moving over to hand Derek the box with the wristbands; taking a moment to give a quick, bracing squeeze to his nearer bicep.

"Let's go into the kitchen," Derek said, glancing at Stiles as he wrapped his fingers around the box. "I got the vegetables steaming and the potatoes are almost done, so it's about time to start the meat."

Talia nodded and smiled, trying not to let her sadness show as Stiles' shoulders tightened again and his face went almost as pale as it had done when he'd heard the Hale name. He swallowed convulsively, sent her a look that was dangerously close to terrified, and then he didn't wait for either of them but pushed off the sofa and darted into the kitchen.

Derek stared after him helplessly, brows knit and lips parted. Talia sighed, giving her son an impulsive hug, holding him close for a long, precious moment.

"Oh, Derek, sweetie," she murmured as she stepped back, reaching up and running her fingers through his hair. "You've really got your work cut out for you here."

Derek nodded miserably, and Talia cupped his cheek.

"I'm here for you," she promised earnestly, meeting and holding her son's beautiful eyes with her own steady alpha gaze, putting on her best mother face. "You're going to have to do most of the work, but I'm always here for you, and I will help you any way I can."

Maybe Peter was right and Derek had bitten off more than he could chew, Talia mused as they both followed his new personal slave into the kitchen. But this was only the first day, and she had faith in her son. 

And maybe, just maybe, Stiles could fix what was still damaged in Derek at the same time Derek mended what was broken in the boy.

***

Stiles was failing _every single test_ that his new owner's alpha set before him with such consummate skill that it was almost as though he was doing it on purpose.

He'd met the alpha's eyes before they'd been formally introduced; a transgression that she would have been well within her rights to correct with immediate and violent discipline.

He'd broken, shown weakness before her. Which, to be fair, most wolves didn't mind seeing... but he'd made a fuss, been out of control, forced her to make him her sole focus for long minutes, and that was the opposite of what a good slave should do.

He'd reacted to Derek's name, had shown interest in his own situation, had let fear for his personal safety override the need to serve his owner quietly and effectively. That wasn't acceptable behavior and he didn't know why Alpha Hale had humored him and actually joined him on the floor to speak to him, instead of ordering Derek to get his new slave under control or enforcing discipline herself.

And now... and now _his owner_ had _done most of the dinner prep_. Cooking was one of the major responsibilities of any halfway decent slave, and Stiles had totally botched that on his very first day in Derek's apartment!

He might as well let Alpha Hale rip his throat out and get it over with, he thought in despair, as he made his way across the kitchen and got the grill ready to sear the steaks on.

Derek had already marinated the cuts of beef and, as he'd announced, the vegetables were steaming and the potatoes were boiling.

At least Stiles had already set the table; he'd gotten that task accomplished before Alpha Hale had arrived, memorizing where the utensils and other place-settings were as he retrieved them from the drawers and cupboards.

The bathroom in his new owner's apartment was huge and luxurious, and the kitchen was roomy and had plenty of counter space, as well as a walk-in pantry for non-perishables, but there was no dining room. Instead there was a table that was just set in one corner of the kitchen, not even in a nook, just a table with four chairs set around it. 

Which meant that Stiles had an audience as he set about finishing the meal his _owner_ had practically begun preparing alone. He tried to focus on the food and not let it get to him.

At least Derek and Alpha Hale had just poured themselves some coffee and then settled at the table, out of the way. Derek had actually moved to offer aid, but his alpha had stopped him with a elegant hand, shaking her head. Stiles was grateful for this courtesy. He'd already fucked this up too much to be salvaged, but he had to _try_.

Ignoring the wolves behind him -- something that was easier because _they_ were carefully ignoring _him_ \-- Stiles seared the steaks for one minute on each side then put them in the oven that was set to broil. He took advantage of the five minutes this gave him to drain the water out of the potatoes and mash them with butter, milk, a little sour cream, and a lot of black pepper. 

Behind him Derek and his mother conversed quietly about family members Stiles didn't know, and he knew he should be listening because these were members of his owner's pack, but he couldn't stop his brain running on its own little treadmill, playing the last half hour over and over again.

Alpha Hale had spun him pretty promises and tempting lies about "family" and safety, but Stiles didn't for a moment buy that. She _did_ seem as though she was more reasonable and controlled than most of the other wolves Stiles had met, he could admit. Still, she was a wolf and her nature was to hunt anything that moved and sounded and smelled like prey....

And Stiles too often fit that profile too well.

Then there was his owner, Derek Hale, who had apologized to Stiles more than once. He _had_ to be trying to lure Stiles into a false sense of security, trying to trick him into becoming complacent, because _wolves didn't apologize_ , not ever.

Derek didn't have to try so hard, Stiles thought bitterly. With how much Stiles had been fucking up Derek would be able to take his pick of reasons to punish his new personal slave at any time now.

But Stiles _was not_ going to fuck up this dinner!

Setting the finished potatoes on the warming burner at the back of the stovetop, Stiles opened the oven and carefully flipped the steaks with a pair of long tongs. He _did_ know how to cook beef and other meats for wolves, and he was going to prove that he could do something right.

He wasn't one of those slaves that felt like they needed to serve their owners well, but he recognized the value in keeping his owners happy and disinclined to punish him. Also, he didn't like looking like an idiot, liked being able to prove himself.

Another five minutes gave him time to check the green beans for doneness. They were still a little crunchy, but Stiles thought that they were just about right; most wolves didn't like mushy vegetables. He tossed the green beans in butter and some sea salt and put them near the potatoes.

Then it was time to pull the steaks out and prop them on their sides on a clean plate he had ready, with help from the tongs, so that they could "rest".

Once that was accomplished, the meal prep was essentially over and Stiles took two more plates down from the cupboard, then paused.

"Who gets the extra piece of meat?" he asked, turning, and only processing belatedly that he was sure to be interrupting his owner's and his alpha's conversation. He flinched, cursing himself all over again.

Derek was frowning at him fiercely, and Stiles wished he could sink into the floor. Alpha Hale gave her son a curious look.

"What are you talking about?" Derek asked, standing and pacing over to where Stiles cringed against the counter. "There's three; one for each of us."

Stiles blinked.

"Oh, shit," Derek groaned, tossing his head back and rolling his eyes broadly. "I should have known you had some stupid idea in your head when you only set two places on the table."

Stiles glanced at the table and blinked some more as he noted that Derek had put out a third set of utensils and glassware while he'd been in the kitchen during Stiles' melt down in the living room. 

"You're joining us for this meal, Stiles," Talia explained gently, giving him a small smile. She looked friendly and kind and Stiles wished that he could believe that she meant him well, but he knew better. Especially after he had repeatedly proved himself to be so far from an ideal personal slave for her beloved son.

At least he knew that the meal he had prepared was going to be delicious. Even though he was a little confounded by the fact that they... evidently... wanted him at their table?

"I thought...."

"We would never make you cook us food and then deny you the right to eat it," Talia said firmly, and now she looked a little disapproving. 

Derek grabbed a third plate out of the cupboard and placed it on top of the two Stiles had already set on the counter, his handsome face set in an expression of disapproval.

"Plate up," he instructed shortly. "While I open the wine."

Stiles stood there, frozen, just breathing. He needed to adjust his world view. He just... _he didn't eat at the table with wolves_. If he was lucky they didn't finish everything and he was able to get some scraps while he cleaned up after them. Even back when he'd been much younger and getting regular meals he'd never _eaten with his owners_. That just wasn't done. This wasn't... this wasn't _right_.

"No wine for Stiles," Alpha Hale spoke up, smiling at him again, though her eyes looked sharp and she was watching him closely. 

"Duh, Mom," Derek said with remarkably maturity, moving smoothly over to the fridge. Stiles tore his gaze away from his owner's ass and arms.... He had to remember that beauty equaled cruelty; the more so now that he knew that this was _Derek Hale_ , who'd been held captive and tortured by a human slave.

No matter what Alpha Hale had said to try and reassure Stiles, he knew better. And he wasn't going to let himself forget the lessons life had driven into him, repeatedly. It was dangerous to forget, to let down his guard.

"Humans can't have the same wine we drink anyway," Derek pointed out, grabbing a bottle and corkscrew. There were already two wineglasses on the table, where Stiles had placed them earlier, no wineglass at the third place setting that Derek had added.

"Also he's underage," Alpha Hale put in, still smiling at Stiles in a way that was really starting to disconcert him.

"Yeah, that's the big consideration here," Derek snarked, rolling his eyes again. "Not that the wine would poison him or anything."

Stiles found he was watching the flex of his owner's forearms as he twisted the corkscrew, but then caught himself and began to serve up the food before it could all pass the point of no return. 

It made him feel strange and uncomfortable to set down meat, potatoes, and vegetables on a plate for himself. He couldn't do anything about the steak portioning -- though there was one smaller piece that was clearly meant for him -- but he made sure not to take too much of the sides.

This attempt was thwarted when Derek made a grouchy sound behind him and plopped more potatoes on his plate while Stiles' back was turned and he was putting the tongs in the sink rather than leaving them on the counter.

"I'll carry these over," Derek informed Stiles, grabbing two of the plates and jerking his head to the side. "Go and sit down, okay?"

Stiles' heart started pounding and he felt the overwhelming urge to vomit, or to run out of the kitchen and find somewhere to hide.... But it was no use running from a couple of wolves, and there was nowhere he could successfully hide in Derek's apartment. So he did as directed and crossed to the table.

His pulse was racing and he was sweating. He was trembling pretty badly, he knew, and it was probably a good idea that he not attempt to transport the plates of food himself, even though that was _his task_. 

His hands had been steady while he'd been cooking, performing the familiar actions, but right now they were shaking so hard he wondered how he was going to hold onto his fork, much less use a knife on the beef.

"This smells amazing, Stiles," Alpha Hale said warmly when Derek put her plate down in front of her. "And it looks perfect."

Stiles hunched, his every instinct screaming at him about the wrongness of it all, and this scream became a wailing siren of panic blaring in his ears as Derek put the other plate he was holding down in front of _Stiles_ before going back for _his own_.

That was wrong, wrong, and more wrong! Wolves didn't serve humans before themselves! Wolves didn't serve humans, ever! Stiles clasped his hands tightly between his thighs, his shoulders up around his ringing ears, his heart beating so hard it ached in his chest, white fuzzing around the edges of his eyesight. He wasn't having a panic attack, but he _was_ panicking.

Alpha Hale generously ignored his breakdown, and didn't comment on her son's breach of social etiquette, instead pouring the wine for herself and Derek. There was ice water set at each place, which Derek must have done while Stiles had been losing control of himself out in the living room, and that was yet another failure on Stiles' part.

But freaking out at the table when he'd been directed to join his owner and Alpha for a meal was _not_ the way to retrieve the situation, and so Stiles fought tooth and nail to regain control of himself, waging a hopefully silent internal war.

He forced himself to breathe more deeply, focusing on the fragrant food sitting before him and how hungry he was. The pizza seemed years ago and hadn't rested easily in his stomach. If he could just get over the shock and horror of having to eat with wolves, he knew that this meal would treat him much better.

Through the ringing in his ears he thought he heard Derek say his name, and so he tore his gaze away from the steak on his plate, to see if he was needed in some way.

But Derek was looking at his mother, not at Stiles, and Stiles relaxed even more. Alpha Hale was murmuring something he couldn't make out, leaning in close to Derek, one hand resting lightly on his forearm. Stiles noted that Derek's hand was clenched in a tight fist, the muscles under Talia's hand pulled tense and hard, but he was more concerned with getting his own body and his own tension under control.

After what seemed like hours -- though it had probably only been a minute or two -- Stiles felt as though he could take a full breath and that he might actually survive this.

His instincts were still telling him how wrong it was to sit at the table and eat a full meal, but he firmly told himself that _this was what his owner wanted_. So even if it was counter to everything Stiles had been taught or learned by experience, this was what he was going to do now.

And Alpha Hale had been right; the steak smelled amazing.

"Is there any bread?" Talia asked, but the question seemed to be directed at Derek rather than Stiles. Which was good, because Stiles didn't know the answer. 

Derek nodded jerkily and wordlessly rose, opening a breadbox on the counter that Stiles had assumed to be merely ornamental, pulling out a package of store-bought sourdough rolls.

"I'm sorry," Stiles managed to blurt out, eyes going wide. "I didn't-- I should have--"

"You didn't know about these," Derek growled, glaring angrily, his tone and expression at complete odds with his words. "It's fine."

Stiles shrank back into his chair at the way his owner bit those last two words out.

That only seemed to make Derek angrier. He sliced open the plastic of the package with his claws and dumped the rolls into a small basket that had been sitting near the breadbox, then grabbed the covered ceramic butter dish that had also been on the counter before stomping over and slamming them both on the table.

"Derek."

That was all Alpha Hale said, in a quiet command, but it sucked the air out of Derek's lungs, and he collapsed down into his chair, his thick brows tilting upward in the center and his lips dragged down at the corners in a deeply tragic expression.

Stiles actually felt bad for his owner, wolf though he was. He wasn't sure what was wrong and he was afraid that whatever _was_ wrong would come out of his hide after dinner was over, but Derek just looked so despondent.

Alpha Hale calmly plucked a roll out of the basket and buttered it, placing it on her plate before picking up her fork and steak knife.

"Dig in," she commanded, glancing meaningfully at first Derek then Stiles. 

Derek looked sullen, but Stiles was feeling better now. He couldn't even be sure why. Maybe because Derek's anger was more familiar to him than his unaccountable tendency to _apologize_ to Stiles. More likely Alpha Hale's ease and calmness were affecting him. He definitely felt better for having a concrete order to follow.

Stiles was still on alert, anxious as he picked up his fork and knife, making sure to wait until Alpha Hale had already set her own knife to her meat before he followed her example. But the anxiety was down to normal levels. And after ending up at the wolves' dinner table, eating their food, after making a huge botch of meeting his new owner's alpha -- who was by extension Stiles' own alpha -- feeling a normal level of anxiety was a welcome thing.

"This is perfectly done," Alpha Hale told Stiles after smoothly slicing into her meat and tasting her first bite. "Excellent job, Stiles."

Stiles nodded. There was very little he could do right, but cooking was one of those things. He was decent at cleaning, if he could avoid breaking anything. Laundry was... more of a hit-or-miss skill set. Cooking, though, he had down.

Derek had been the one to marinade the meat; Stiles had only cooked it. Stiles wanted to tell Alpha Hale this, but that would draw her attention to yet another of Stiles' failures, and he was kind of afraid to call attention to either himself _or_ his owner right now.

Derek was miserably scooping up mashed potatoes, and Stiles wished he was anywhere but here. Well, he'd spent pretty much his whole life wishing that.

The steak was _amazing_ , though, once Stiles had managed to slice a thin piece off and get it to his mouth. He almost never got to eat hot, fresh food, and he didn't think he'd _ever_ had a cut of meat of this quality. It was tender, juicy, and Derek had seasoned it in a way Stiles had never managed before and didn't think he could duplicate.

When he'd started eating, Stiles' stomach had been so knotted that he hadn't thought he'd be able to make get anything down.

But Alpha Hale was exuding an almost palpable aura of calm; enough even to affect Stiles, who was human, and he found that he actually _was_ hungry and was able to enjoy his meal. It had a definite impact on Derek's attitude, especially as his mother engaged him in conversation again.

While things weren't exactly cheerful, the mood lifted when Derek and Talia began talking quietly about their family again. The wine might have helped, judging by the way the apples of Derek's cheeks and the tips of his ears went pink and his voice rose to a louder volume than was his norm.

Stiles kept his head down, taking great care in slicing up his steak, in stabbing exactly three green beans at a time, in dragging his forkful of potatoes through the steak juices before lifting it to his mouth. He had to agree with his Alpha that the meal was delicious. It was a brand new experience and he wanted to appreciate it, he really did. But he barely put a dent in it before his body let him know in no uncertain terms that he was finished eating.

He gnawed on his lower lip, tasting salt and beef fat, trying to will himself to eat more. He knew, though, that if he tried he was going to be sick. There would be no hiding that from the wolves and then they'd know that he had wasted the food that Derek had spent money on, spent his own time and effort preparing, and--

"You're done with this, right, Stiles?" Alpha Hale asked, just as he was beginning to really work himself up, his fingers clenching around his utensils. 

He looked up, mouth falling open, as she rose and took his plate from in front of him.

"I'll just wrap it up for later," she said, smiling at him, and she shouldn't be... she shouldn't be performing such a menial task, that was _what Stiles was here for_. But it was too late to protest -- and what could he do; demand that an alpha stop what she was doing? -- and she was clearly at home in Derek's kitchen because she did as she'd said, stretching plastic wrap over the plate then putting it in the fridge.

"Sorry," Stiles croaked out, dropping his knife and fork was a little clash, lowering his head in submission.

"For what?" she asked, walking back over to the table and putting her hand on the back of his chair. He flinched before he could stop himself, but she was still radiating that soothing calm and he felt his shoulders relax almost unwilled. "You've clearly been denied food for too long, and as a result your stomach has shrunk. I wouldn't expect you to be able to eat as much as two healthy werewolves."

Derek was staring at Stiles, almost looking pained, and Stiles couldn't figure out why so he tried to ignore it. 

"I can do the dishes now," he offered, looking up at Alpha Hale, though he was careful to avoid meeting her eyes.

"That would be fine," she replied before Derek could speak up, though he did let out a little sound of protest. "Derek and I are going to be in the living room. Come and join us once you're done, please."

Stiles nodded, licking his lips again. It felt good, having something normal to do, and he didn't even cringe away when Alpha Hale reached down and pressed her warm hand to the nape of his neck. It was safer for him if he bore her scent, and while he couldn't bring himself to trust in it, she hadn't yet been anything but kind and considerate toward him....

Then he remembered what Kate Argent had done to her son, who was Stiles' new owner, and his heart thumped in his chest all over again.

The Hale family had every reason to hate humans, and Stiles was in as vulnerable a position as a human could be, here in Derek's apartment, alone with Derek once Alpha Hale had left. 

Stiles considered that he would be lucky if he survived the night. 

But right now there were dishes to do, and that was going to require Stiles' full attention. He didn't dare to break anything, not his first night here. Cleaning didn't come as naturally to him as cooking did, but he knew how to wash plates and utensils.

Talia squeezed, lightly, then she and Derek took their wineglasses and a fresh bottle of wine and left the room. 

Stiles breathed easier as soon as he was alone, and squared his shoulders. There were empty plates and bowls and glasses and a grill pan to wash, and Stiles could do that. 

He wasn't sure of his place here or what was expected of him... but he knew how to do dishes.

***

"Mom, I have a dishwasher," Derek protested, keeping his voice down as he and his mother settled on the sofa. He could hear Stiles moving around in the kitchen, could hear him running water in the sink, and he wanted to go back in there and tell the boy to just rinse everything and throw it in the washer, save him all the unnecessary effort.

"Hush, Derek," his mother said, reaching over and palming the back of Derek's neck the way she had done to Stiles. Derek took comfort from her familiar touch, and his nostrils flared as he breathed in, appreciating the way she was marking him with faint traces of Stiles' scent at the same time she shared her own. Not that he hadn't already gotten covered in Stiles' scent when they'd share the bed earlier.

That seemed ages ago now, though, Derek thought with a sense of despair. When Stiles had only feared him as a new owner and hadn't been absolutely terrified by knowledge of _who_ exactly Derek _was_. The werewolf who'd been tortured by a human.... 

The werewolves Derek met -- though he tried not to meet many -- seemed evenly divided between pitying him and regarding him as being weak because of what Kate had done to him. As if _any_ of them wouldn't have succumbed to the wolfsbane and wound up in the same straits if it had happened to them!

That was why Derek avoided other people. His family mostly treated him the same as they always had. 

Well, they _tried_. 

His mother and Peter tended to be more protective. Laura didn't tease him about everything the way she used to. And Cora actually seemed to _resent_ the attention Derek got, not seeming to realize it was largely negative attention -- or attention gained in a negative way, at any rate -- and that Derek would give it all up in a heartbeat if he could.

But Derek got by, he'd gotten on with his life.... It helped that he knew his mother loved him no more and no less than before. And it helped to have watched Peter tear Kate's throat out. 

Derek would have been appalled by the violence... _before_ the things Kate had done to him. But the pain she had inflicted had changed something in him, and it had only filled him with a sense of relief so powerful that he'd have fallen to his knees if he hadn't already been there, once he saw the last light flicker out of her eyes.

What the torture had _not_ done, however, was make him in any way desirous of inflicting similar pain on _any_ living being; not even Kate, if her death hadn't been so quick. Despite what Stiles seemed to think -- or what Derek's mother thought Stiles thought, but she was usually right about such matters -- Derek would _never_ hurt Stiles. Especially not because he was human.

But Derek despaired of how he was going to convince Stiles of this.

"Let Stiles do the dishes by hand," his mother continued, moving her hand down to grip his wrist, this simple contact grounding him when he felt a little like flying apart. "You have a drying rack, right?"

Derek nodded. It was for the things, like wineglasses and thermos coffee cups, that couldn't go in the dishwasher, and usually he dumped his empty water bottles in it before moving them en masse to the recycling bin in the pantry.

"He needs something familiar to do. He needs to feel useful," Talia continued, giving Derek a small smile. She was clearly as disturbed as Derek was by all the abuse Stiles had so obviously undergone in the past, but she was dealing with it a lot better than he was managing. Well, she was the _alpha_. She had more control, over herself as well as her pack. Also, she was his _mom_.

Derek nodded again, grimacing, but he saw her point.

"Derek," she said, dragging his attention away from where Stiles was splashing hot water in the kitchen, his movements alternating between spastic and deliberate, as though he was trying to restrain himself and then forgetting, only to remember all over again.

"Yeah?" Derek asked hoarsely, waiting for her to tell him she agreed with Peter that Derek had made a mistake when he'd picked Stiles, waiting for her to tell him he needed to choose a new personal slave, ready to fight claw and fang for the right to keep Stiles.

"He's damaged but not broken," she surprised him by saying. She withdrew her hand, pouring them both more wine, and settled back into the soft cushions of his sofa. "He has a spark that hasn't been beaten out of him."

"That's..." Derek cleared his throat and cradled his wineglass between his hands, marveling over the fact that his fingers were steady. He felt shaky inside, but he seemed to be holding it together okay, outwardly at least. "That's exactly what I thought when I first saw him."

His mother gazed at him, her face soft and smooth but something dangerous in her gaze.... Or maybe that was only Derek's conscience speaking. She didn't know how strongly he felt about Stiles, though... did she? 

Well, she was his mother and his alpha. She probably knew Derek's heart better than he did.

"Tell me about that," she urged. "I only have Peter's side of the story."

Derek groaned and grimaced. He loved his uncle, loved him deeply. They'd been close while growing up, since neither of them had had real friends their own age, and Peter had been the one who'd found Derek and killed Kate for him. But Peter Hale was, at the same time, an immensely annoying individual, and when he and Derek disagreed, they tended to vigorously disagree.

At least Derek knew that his mother felt the same way about Peter that he did. Peter was her younger brother, after all, and she'd been dealing with Peter's drama since before Derek had even been born.

Considering the way Cora was currently acting, Derek shuddered to think what teenage Peter must have been like. Derek himself... well, he'd been a bit of a hormonal handful, he thought, but then he'd been taken captive by Kate and things had gotten a lot different after that. He still wasn't quite sure what his "normal" should be, but he usually accepted it as what his life _was_ now.

"I saw him and knew that he was mine," he said simply. He felt like he needed to explain more, explain better, but his mother was nodding, sipping her wine but keeping her gaze fixed on his face.

Derek buried his nose in his own wineglass, feeling his cheeks flush even though he couldn't have said why.

He wasn't sure what he expected his mother to say in answer to that, but what he _hadn't_ expected was for her respond evenly, "His scent mingles seamlessly with yours."

"I thought I imagined that," Derek blurted, lowering his wineglass and staring at his mother a little incredulously. He hadn't dreamed he'd get confirmation or approbation from his mom, his _alpha_ , even though he'd been hoping....

"No, it's real," she assured him, smiling fondly. Then she sobered. "That doesn't mean you don't have a challenge ahead of you in dealing with him."

Derek nodded. "You did it for me," he said before he thought. "So I can do it for Stiles."

He almost expected his mom to get upset with him for comparing the bond between an alpha and her beta -- between a mother and her child, no less -- to the bond between himself and his new personal slave, but instead she was looking at him with warm eyes and affection curling up the corners of her lips. 

"What does it mean?" Derek asked, setting his wineglass on the coffee table. He'd had almost too much and he needed to reel it back in. After the disaster of Stiles meeting his mom, Derek had been eager to take a little of the edge off, but once they were done entertaining and it was just him and Stiles in the apartment, Derek needed to have all of his senses and every brain cell functioning at their highest levels. 

"That you 'recognized' Stiles?" Talia asked, putting into words what Derek had been feeling. "Or that your scents blend so well?"

"Yes," Derek replied, because he had to think that the two facts were related. It seemed pretty ridiculous to imagine that they weren't.

His mom smiled again, reaching over and tussling his hair. Then she sobered. They could hear Stiles draining the sink and wiping down the counters. Soon he would run out of tasks to keep him busy and have to come join them as directed.

"I'm not sure," she replied, speaking slowly, as though she was choosing her words with care, which made Derek feel a little nervous. "Generally those sorts of things happen between werewolves, not between a werewolf and a human."

Derek sat back, feeling a little stunned. "You mean... like you and Dad?" he got out through lips that felt numb.

Talia shook her head slightly and glanced toward the kitchen. "Not exactly like that, I don't think," she said, which only made Derek feel more freaked out, because she wasn't flat-out denying his words. "But I now understand Peter's crack about a human son-in-law."

"Mom!" 

She shot Derek a quick look, taking in his expression, probably reading the tangle of emotions before Derek could even figure out what he was feeling.

"Hush," she repeated, tilting her head toward where Stiles' stocking feet were shuffling over the tile of the kitchen floor, hesitant, prevaricating before he headed into the living room as directed, probably trying to figure out some other way to stall.

Derek bit his lip.

Talia's face softened and she looked at him with so much love it made his heart ache. "Don't over-think it," she instructed kindly, reaching and clasping his hand in hers. "Don't get hung up on _why_ , just let it be. You're more likely to reach an understanding that way, if you're not fighting it or thinking it's something it isn't. Ignore Peter. Ignore me, even. Just listen to what your heart is telling you."

Derek nodded, taking his alpha's words and doing his best to internalize them. It would be for Stiles' benefit as well as his own to do as his mother was advising. He couldn't forget what she had just hinted at... but faced with the reality of Stiles in his home and as a part of his life now, he could let it slide to the back of his mind.

He was relieved, overall, that his alpha wasn't going to tell him he couldn't keep Stiles. He was grateful that his mother saw what he saw in the boy; something precious that needed healing. And he'd be even more happy once this dinner was over and it was just him and Stiles in his apartment. He loved his mother, more than anyone else on the face of the Earth, but he needed to be alone with Stiles, needed to have the boy all to himself.

"Thank you for making dinner and for cleaning up afterward," Talia spoke up as Stiles slunk into the living room. He seemed calmer than he had been during dinner, but that wasn't saying a lot. Derek had thought he was going to have a panic attack when he'd been asked to sit at the table, and it had taken everything in him -- and a direct order from his alpha -- not to go over and try to comfort him.

Considering that Stiles was now terrified of Derek, thinking he was going to torture him in twisted vengeance for the actions of another human slave, that had been a smart move on Talia's part, but it had still raised Derek's hackles to be denied the option.

Stiles froze, staring at her in shock. He looked so young, and yet had so clearly seen so much. A lot like Derek, in fact. He wanted to go to Stiles and sweep him up in his arms and never let go, but... well, that was about the worst thing he could do right now.

"It was...." Stiles swallowed tightly. "That was my duty. I'm... I'm Derek's personal slave now."

Derek's mother nodded gracefully and didn't argue. "True. But just because something is a required action, that doesn't rob it of its value. And you did a beautiful job crafting the meal; that hard work and talent requires acknowledgment."

"Derek did most of the work," Stiles mumbled into his chest, his head hanging, the words seemingly dragged out of him against his will. He was still standing in the doorway to the living room, hovering, using the jamb to steady himself on his feet, and Derek broke.

"Come in and sit down," he directed. He wanted to assure Stiles that he hadn't minded doing a lot of the prep for dinner, that it definitely hadn't been "most" of the work, wanted to assure him he'd help Stiles with the meals in the future too, but he was intelligent enough to know that would set Stiles off even worse. His mother was right; at least for the moment, Stiles needed things that were familiar to him.

Derek wasn't about to abuse or neglect or punish Stiles -- actions that he was clearly all too familiar with -- but he needed to keep in mind that a lot of slaves weren't treated like family the way the Hale slaves were. And while he didn't want to give Stiles a skewed idea of what was going to be expected of him, he couldn't try to force this new mindset on him, whole parcel, right away either.

It was going to be a tough balance to maintain. But for both their sakes Derek needed to give it his best try.

Stiles sucked his lower lip into his mouth then moved forward as directed. Remembering earlier in the day when Stiles had wanted to kneel before him, Derek indicated the loveseat that was kitty-corner to the sofa he and his mother occupied. "Sit there."

Derek could see the tension in Stiles' shoulders, but having explicit orders seemed to help, and he gingerly settled himself on the edge of the loveseat.

"Stiles," Talia spoke up, drawing those big brown eyes to her in muted alarm, "I'm making an appointment for you to see the Hale Emissary, who is also a doctor. Probably early tomorrow afternoon, if that's okay."

Stiles looked over at Derek fearfully. As though he, what, expected Derek to say no? Maybe he was made anxious by the alpha addressing him directly as though he had autonomy, when he'd made it obvious that every other owner he'd had had regarded him as a possession.

Derek tried to smile encouragingly at Stiles, but his mouth felt like it twisted wrong, and from the alarm that flooded Stiles beautiful, liquid eyes, he failed miserably at being reassuring. Dammit.

"That sounds good," Derek answered for Stiles, because he felt like this was what Stiles needed right now. His own shoulders loosened a little when Stiles' body relaxed a large part of the sudden tension that had filled it. "It'll give us time for lunch first."

His mother gave them both an approving look. "I'll also order some clothing more in Stiles' size," she added, this time seeming to be speaking to both of them. Derek looked at the way Stiles had needed to roll up the sleeves of the shirt he had on, his bony wrists exposed, and the way the collar was yawing around his collarbones, and he was grateful to his alpha for providing, even though his instincts wanted to keep Stiles in his own clothing forever and ever. 

"Of course, if you want to take him shopping so that he can choose his own, that's fine too," she added. "But I assume you're going to want to avoid venturing into public for a while."

Derek nodded vigorously. The thought of so many strangers surrounding Stiles, potentially touching him, brushing their scent on him, it made him want to growl.

"I-- Alpha Hale, I don't need-- I mean--"

Stiles looked as though he was in danger of swallowing his tongue, his eyes huge with alarm again, and Derek began to itch to have his mother gone. He appreciated everything she had done and was going to do, but she was upsetting Stiles and she was an interloper in his apartment. She was his mother and his alpha and he needed her like he needed air, but right now he wanted to be alone with Stiles. To try and calm him. To try and tame him.

"It'll be all right," he said soothingly. "Stiles, you do need clothes."

"Two." Stiles literally choked, his hoarse voice coming out even rougher, and there was sweat beading at his hairline and temple. "I only need. I can wash. I don't need." He wasn't even speaking in complete sentences right now.

"Hush." This time Talia was commanding Stiles instead of Derek, and Stiles subsided, retreating until he was resting against the back of the loveseat. Derek was just glad he hadn't slid off onto the floor.

Rising off the sofa, Talia went over to Stiles, perching beside him, keeping a careful amount of space between them but holding his gaze.

"I understand your hesitation," she said to Stiles. "But the Hale pack is large, prestigious, and wealthy. Our slaves dress as nicely as we do. I'm not asking you to build a large wardrobe by yourself; I'll choose your clothing initially. But you have to let us dress you. All right?"

By the time she'd finished speaking, Stiles was nodding so hard he looked like his neck would snap. "Yes, Alpha," he rasped. "Yes, I understand."

"Oh, sweetie." Giving vent to an uncharacteristic surge of sentimentality, she reached for Stiles, cupping his face and giving him a quick kiss on the brow. Not scent marking him. Just expressing affection like she might do for one of her own children. "You'll be okay, I promise."

Even though he loved and respected his mother and he _wanted_ her to like Stiles, Derek felt a nearly uncontrollable surge of jealousy and possessiveness as she touched his boy.

Fortunately for everyone, Talia knew what she was doing, and before Derek could wolf out or Stiles could freak out, she was standing again and moving away from the loveseat.

"Derek, see me out," she said, arching a brow at him and smiling crookedly, no doubt reading his conflicted emotions on his face, no matter how hard he tried to remain expressionless. 

As Derek got to his feet she turned back toward Stiles once more. Stiles rose as well, looking completely confused but not panicked anymore. So there was that.

"Stiles, it has been a pleasure to meet you," Talia said with deep sincerity. "You cooked us a lovely meal and I look forward to returning the favor. Once you're more settled and more certain of your place here, I'll invite Derek to bring you over to _my_ home."

Thick, long lashes flickered, and amber flashed, and Derek wished that he could see that pretty red mouth curve into a smile, but he knew that there was no way Stiles was going to be smiling any time soon.

Instead, Stiles bit at his lip with white teeth, his cheeks pale, and then he nodded. That was... progress? Derek hoped.

Derek followed his mother to the door, as she'd directed, even though it killed him to walk away from Stiles.

She pulled on her jacket and then took both his hands in hers. "Derek," she said, softly enough that Stiles shouldn't be able to hear her, back in the living room. "Do what you can for Stiles, but be sure to look after yourself as well."

"I will," he promised, not wanting her to worry. "I'm doing okay, though, Mom. Really."

"I know you are," she smiled. "That was why I pushed you to get a personal slave; not because you were 'overdue' or anything. I didn't want you to be alone anymore. I figured you could look after your slave and they could look after you...."

"And then I came home with Stiles," he finished wryly.

She shrugged, giving his hands a little squeeze. "It's all a little more... intense... than what I anticipated for you," she admitted. "But your scents blend and you recognized him, and I think... I think you can help him, Derek. Just don't try to hard to _fix_ him. He's damaged but he's not broken."

"I've got it," he told her, because he was pretty sure he did. "Really, Mom."

She let go of his hands and pulled him into a tight hug.

"I'll text you the time you need to be at Deaton's," she said. "And you text or call me if you need _anything_. Even if you only have a question about humans or you just need to talk. Okay?"

"Got it," Derek repeated, and kissed his mother's cheek before drawing back. "Anything at all, I'll contact you."

"And keep me updated when you can," she said, lifting her brows. "I understand why I had to hear from Peter that you'd brought a slave home, but...."

"Sorry," Derek mumbled, hanging his head. He actually was a little ashamed of his behavior earlier in the day. He'd been so concerned with how he had reacted to Stiles and so intent on getting him into his home that he'd been rude to Peter and hadn't contacted his alpha about the newest member of her pack the way he should have done.

"I get it," his mother assured him. "It's okay. But stay in touch or I'm coming over here."

And with that last semi-threat his mother was gone and Derek was alone in his apartment with a human boy who was terrified of him. Great. It was what he'd wanted, but now that he had it he was at something of a loss as to what to do next.

Between the early morning Peter had forced on him, the stress of walking through a warehouse crowded with strangers and choosing a slave then dealing with him once they were home, and the wine he'd had, Derek was actually feeling really tired, even though it was only early evening. The nap he'd taken earlier hadn't really helped. He yawned widely, walking back into the living room, and had to smile when he saw that Stiles was nodding off on the loveseat.

He didn't, however, feel like smiling when he spoke Stiles' name and the boy startled awake, sliding off the loveseat and onto his knees on the floor. Then he realized what he'd done instinctively, and was even more freaked out.

"Come on," Derek said, taking a page from his mother's book and ignoring both of Stiles' reactions, tipping his head toward the hall. "I'll show you your room."

He desperately wanted to ask Stiles to share his bed with him again, could imagine how it would feel to curl up around the boy, underneath the comforter this time. But he knew that if he asked, Stiles would take it as an order, and he'd do what he thought Derek was telling him to.

It was tempting.... But Derek couldn't do that to Stiles. Not tonight. Not when Stiles was so certain that Derek wanted to hurt him. The best thing Derek could do for both of them was to give Stiles a place where he felt safe. He kind of hated that he was mature enough to recognize this and act on it, but now that the idea had crossed his mind, he couldn't make it go away.

The apartment's second bedroom was specifically meant for a personal slave and so it was far less roomy than the master bedroom, but Talia and Peter had made sure for Derek when he'd moved in that it was furnished nicely and was as comfortable and welcoming as his own room was; just on a smaller scale.

Stiles' eyes were huge as he stood just inside the doorway and looked around. Derek wondered where he'd slept before; envisioning garages, pantries, basements, maybe cupboards under the stairs....

He hoped not, but he suspected he wasn't far off. He wasn't going to ask, though. He was just glad that he could give Stiles this.

The drawers of the small dresser in the corner were empty, but Derek hoped that Stiles would sleep in the shirt he had on, since it smelled of him. It wasn't as good as having Stiles in Derek's bed, covered in sheets that he'd slept in, wrapped up in Derek's arms, but it was _something_ , at least.

"This is...?"

"This is your room," Derek said, stating the obvious because Stiles needed to hear it. "Sorry you don't have your own bathroom; this is a small apartment. You can use anything in the main bathroom. I _want_ you to use my products. The blue toothbrush is mine, and there's a new one for you, still in the package. It's in the cupboard above the sink, behind the mirror."

Stiles was staring at him with glazed eyes. Derek felt a little glazed himself, but he didn't dare push any more than he already had.

"If you need anything," he said, even though he knew the words were useless, "Just knock on my door. Sleep well tonight." 

That last invocation came out a little stiffly, but he was fighting the urge to just grab Stiles and drag him into his bedroom, make _sure_ that Stiles slept well.... He restrained himself because doing so would only be a guarantee that the opposite of that happened.

Leaving Stiles just inside the doorway to his room, Derek went to his own bedroom, changed into a pair of pajama bottoms. Making his way to the bathroom he could see that the door to Stiles' room was still open but now he couldn't see his slave. He could hear his heart beating, though, and knew he was in there.

Derek commandeered the bathroom, leaving the door ajar in case Stiles wanted to join him -- vain hope though he knew that it was -- and went through his night-time routine; including brushing his teeth with his blue toothbrush.

Then he was back in his bedroom. He closed the door, and sat on his bed, checking his phone for emails or texts. There were a few, so he read them, trying not to listen as Stiles moved around softly and uncertainly in the hallway and bathroom, then retreated back to his own bedroom.

Derek had felt tired, but when he climbed under the covers all he could do was lay there stiffly and listen to Stiles' heart beating down the hall, Eventually he gave up, wandering out into the dark apartment, feeling cold and empty without Stiles in his arms, or at least in his bed.

He might have dozed off a little, but it was entirely possible that Derek spent the entire night sitting on the floor outside Stiles' bedroom, wide awake, listening to his heart beating and his shallow breathing.... 

And if he did, then he might have heard that Stiles didn't sleep at all that night either.

Maybe it would have been better if he'd had Stiles sleep with him in his bed, as he'd done when they had napped. But Derek was trying, he was _trying_ to do this right.

He wanted to be the best he could be for Stiles, even if that meant being his owner.... But he did hope that someday Stiles would realize and accept that he _was_ family.

***

Stiles had never had a room of his own before. He didn't know how to deal with this unexpected development, and he didn't think he liked that.

Scratch that; he _definitely_ didn't like it.

There was a bed. It wasn't huge, like the bed in his owner's room, and the comforter on it wasn't eiderdown, but it was still more luxury than Stiles had ever had assigned to himself in all of his life. It was much nicer than the bed his parents had shared when he'd still been tiny enough to crawl in with them... and he was supposed to sleep here?

It was terrifying. Almost as terrifying as knowing that he was now the personal slave to a wolf who'd been tortured by a human, who was sure to hate and despise all humans now, no matter how good a show he put on in front of his alpha.

But Derek hadn't done _anything_. Nothing other than banish Stiles to this bedroom, which was meant to be his, which might be tiny by wolf standards but was cavernous by Stiles' standards.

Maybe that was part of the psychological torment, Stiles thought, though wolves generally tended to go in more for the rending of flesh and bruising of bones. It was clear, though, that Alpha Hale was very intelligent, and Derek was her son. He was probably intelligent as well, and he would have learned from his mother. So it was possible that he was setting Stiles up for something _worse_ , in giving him his own bedroom and a night of privacy like this.

Since Derek didn't have any outlying housing specifically built for slaves, or a basement, Stiles had sort of been expecting to sleep at the foot of his owner's bed, with a blanket if he was lucky. The apartment was well heated, so it wouldn't have been any hardship, and it would have been more comfort than he was used to. 

But this bed that was Stiles' and his alone.... It was intimidating and _wrong_ , and Stiles just. He couldn't.

After he was sure that his owner was finished in the bathroom -- keeping his ear pressed to the door to listen for his quiet movements -- Stiles made his way into it in turn, to take a piss and brush his teeth. It was hard to get the packaging for the toothbrush Derek had specified as being his open with his shaking hands and chewed-down nails, but Stiles found a pair of scissors in a drawer to the side of the sink, and then he was able to free it and scrub the lingering tang of steak out of his mouth.

Not that the steak had tasted bad -- the opposite of that, in fact -- but it was associated in Stiles' mind with having to sit at the table with his owner and an alpha, and that was still freaking him out, even though it was over with now.

Derek's bedroom door remained closed as Stiles emerged, shutting off the light behind himself. He skittered back to the room that was assigned as his, and stood there helplessly. The bed was mocking him, and he glared at it, wondering who else had slept in it. He still didn't know about any previous personal slaves Derek might have had.

Finally, standing in the middle of the room made Stiles' legs tired. Between the pizza and the steak dinner he had eaten more today than normal, but he still felt weak and shaky.

He switched off the overhead light. This room, like the bathroom, had no windows. Unlike the bathroom there was no skylight, but there _was_ a small nightlight plugged into a socket near the bed. Stiles stared at it while his eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting. It was in the shape of a crescent moon, glowing pale in the shadows. He felt his lips curl unwilled, and he wasn't sure if he was smiling or snarling. 

Stiles was sleepy, it was true, but mostly he was _tired_. He was tired of being on alert, tired of holding himself ready for an attack at any moment. He needed to do something, and laying down on the bed was _not_ going to happen. He did move over to the bed, though.

There was a plump navy comforter atop the twin mattress, a little oversized so that it hung down to puddle on the floor to either side of the bed. Stiles grabbed this comforter and dragged it to the corner of the room with him. Once there, he wrapped it around his body and wedged himself into the space between the dresser and the wall, curling his knees up to his chest, letting the comforter fall over his head and face like a hood, though he retained a little open space in order to keep an eye on the door.

It was a complete illusion, but for the first time in longer than he could remember, Stiles felt _safe_. There would be nothing to stop Derek from coming into his room and dragging him out of his hiding spot, but it was silent on the other side of the closed door and Stiles thought that he just might have the night to himself, as Derek had promised.

Stiles rested his head against the side of the dresser, letting his eyelids droop. He was tired... but he couldn't fall asleep. It wasn't the way he'd positioned himself. This was one of the most cozy spots he'd been in for a while, and the comforter was impossibly fluffy around his body. Not as much so as the eiderdown comforter on Derek's bed, but that was only as it should be. Derek was a wolf. Stiles was lucky when he got even a scrap of a sheet to cover himself with. This comforter was the height of luxury where a human slave was concerned.

He still couldn't sleep, though. His brain kept him awake. Reminding him how many things he'd fucked up earlier in the evening. Telling him all the ways Derek could hurt him. Giving him vivid pictures of what that Kate Argent slave had done to Derek... and for some reason that upset him more than imagining what Derek might do to him.

Stiles strained to remember what he'd heard about Derek Hale. He'd recognized the name instantly. He'd known that his owner's name was Derek, and once his alpha had been introduced as Talia Hale... well, it had taken Stiles about one second to put two and two together.

It had happened years ago, when Stiles had still been little. So it must have been when Derek had been about the same age Stiles was now, give or take a year.

Stiles remembered the whispers. He'd still been with his Dad, and their owner hadn't been as bad as the two that had come after.... 

Stiles had expected that his father would be happy to hear that a human slave had managed to capture a wolf, and certainly some of the other slaves in the household had felt that way, but his Dad had been grim and disapproving of those other humans.

 _"When one wolf suffers at the hand of a human slave,"_ he'd explained to Stiles, who had barely been old enough to understand the complex concepts his father had been laying out, _"Then all slaves are liable to suffer at the claws of the wolves."_

That had made sense to Stiles, because he'd already become acquainted with the concept of transference, even if he didn't know that was what it was called.

 _"Also,"_ his father had added, his lined face creasing even more, in a sad look that made Stiles want to hug him, _"It was just a boy who was taken. Derek Hale isn't even an adult yet, Stiles, and he hadn't done anything wrong. For this woman to torture him for no real reason, that's not right. We should never be pleased by the suffering of others."_

Stiles knew that. He'd internalized it. Before her death, his mother had taught him over and over that all life held value, and that anyone who didn't think so was weak; even the wolves.

Of course, his father had always added, the lives of those who hurt and murdered for sport held one hell of a lot less value than those who did good and were generous. His wife couldn't argue with that, though she'd given him a disapproving look. Not because of what he'd said, but because Stiles had only been about five at the time.

Stiles missed his parents, he thought, his throat aching. His mother had died and Stiles had seen it happen, so he knew that she was gone forever. But he'd been sold away from the household his father belonged to, and so he liked to think that his dad was still out there, doing his duties, thinking of Stiles and loving him and missing him....

Great, now his eyes were watering and his throat had a huge lump. Stiles sniffed, wiping his cheeks on his comforter and dragged his mind away from the past and back to his present. He loved and missed his father and he hoped that the man was doing well. Their owner had been decent for a wolf.... Deucalion had been aloof and occasionally rage-filled, but while he was quick enough to dole out punishments, he'd never beaten any of the slaves he owned.

Sometimes Stiles missed Deucalion, as much as he could miss a wolf. He'd been attractive, as all wolves were, in a craggy way that appealed to Stiles even when he'd been a child, and he'd had a really gorgeous voice with an exotic accent that had been at odds with his rough-hewn face. But his emissary had taken a dislike to Stiles ever since he'd accidentally spilled mop water on her expensive shoes, so when a new batch of slaves came in, Stiles had been one of the ones to be sold off to make room.

Things had only gone downhill for him from there. 

Stiles reached up, freeing a hand from the comforter and touching the smooth scar over his eye. He wanted to forget about his other two owners, wanted to forget the years between the last time he'd gotten to hug his dad and... well, _now_.

He wished that he could trust Alpha Hale at her word, but the wolf who'd been the nicest to him in his life had been dismissive and then sold him without a moment of hesitation, even though Stiles had still been prepubescent and children under the age of thirteen weren't supposed to be taken away from their parents.

Well, that was just an "understanding", one of the few traditions connected with the slavery of humans that worked to the humans' benefit. It hadn't broken any laws or anything for Deucalion to sell Stiles the way he'd done. It had just been traumatizing for Stiles and his father, that was all, and thrown Stiles out into a world he wasn't ready or equipped to deal with.

Stiles sighed deeply, his chest constrained by his drawn-up knees, and huddled into himself more tightly. 

What was done was done, but he did wish that he could see his dad....

Instead of dwelling on his past, though, Stiles ought to be looking toward his future. 

It certainly seemed as though he was going to survive his first night here, which he hadn't been sure of earlier. Stiles was still a little surprised that he was undamaged, had his own bedroom, and that Derek hadn't demanded _anything_ from him.... But he had to be setting Stiles up, making things that much worse when he inevitably turned on his sorry messed-up excuse for human slave....

Stiles yawned, exhausted, but his brain not stopping, rendering him painfully unable to sleep. 

Maybe it was giving himself too much credit, again, to think that he mattered so much to Derek. Maybe all of this was legitimate. Maybe the only thing Stiles had to worry about was Derek losing control when Stiles inevitably screwed up and brought rightful punishment down on his own head....

And maybe he was thinking midnight crazy thoughts, Stiles continued bitterly. Because to trust a wolf was madness. It was one sure way to get oneself dead, and Stiles didn't want to die.

Sleep still eluded him, but exhaustion was catching up with his brain, and Stiles' thoughts were increasingly foggy and disjointed as he started trying to figure out ways he could get out of this situation.

The vendor who had sold him to Derek had said he was a "runner" and that wasn't wrong, but it hadn't been right either. Stiles knew how dumb it was for a slave to try to escape. There had to be documentation for all humans, and there was no safe place for an owner-less slave to hide. Not when wolves could smell who every single individual human belonged to.

But Stiles' last owner had been literally on the verge of killing him and that was why Stiles had "run". He'd only been trying to save his own skin. He was just lucky he'd ended up with an disreputable vendor instead of being sent back to Ennis. If Ennis hadn't killed five slaves the same day Stiles had slipped out of his house and attempted to escape, things might have gone differently. 

As it was, Ennis had been under investigation and since he was still underage, Stiles had been shipped off to Juvvie. There were more than a few corrupt individuals there -- surprise, surprise -- and Stiles was evidently worth more in cash than he was as another body in the overcrowded living spaces. So after a couple of miserable weeks, he'd been sent away to parade through a series of different vendors who were all varying levels of awful, until he'd wound up on display in the warehouse where Derek Hale had found him....

Well, he wasn't dead. And his fantasies of leaving this apartment and finding his father were just that; fantasies. That was okay. His semi-delirious, dozing daydreaming was as close to sleep as he was going to get tonight, and the thought of being able to embrace his dad again was something that made him smile.

Alone, in the bedroom that was evidently _his_ , Stiles felt momentarily safe enough to smile. Even though he knew that this little bubble was ephemeral and would pop come morning.

Morning! 

Stiles stiffened where he was coiled in his corner, after hours and hours of thoughts and memories and anxiety and illusions of security, feeling his body ache in protest. He hadn't found out from Derek when he was supposed to have breakfast and coffee ready!

Stiles bit his lower lip hard enough to sting, crawling out of his corner and trying to shake off the fog of weariness that was hazing his head. There was an electric clock on top of the dresser and if it had the correct time, it was a little after six o'clock right now.

He wondered if Derek had a job. He wondered what time he usually rose. Stiles had never been a personal slave before, but he knew what was required of them. And since there were no other slaves in this apartment to share their knowledge of their owner with Stiles, Derek should have supplied Stiles with a sheet of paper detailing his schedule and the requirements of Stiles' services.

Well, not all owners bothered with that. Kali -- who had been Stiles' second owner and the one who had given him the majority of his scars, including the one over his eye -- had taken a sadistic pleasure in forcing Stiles to stumble blindly through his duties and then punishing him every time he'd failed to get it right. It hadn't mattered to her that he was a small boy trying to get over the pain of being wrenched away from his one living parent; hell, that had probably made it even better where she was concerned.

Stiles stood, blinking blearily, once more undecided in the center of his bedroom. 

He could go and start the coffee and food now.... But what if Derek wanted to sleep in until eleven or something? He'd be angry at Stiles for waking him, angry at him for the waste of coffee and food. And would he want something specific for breakfast? Stiles had no idea what--

Stiles startled as a knock came at the door, not loud but breaking him free of his spiraling, panicked thoughts. He stared blankly for a moment, not processing what was going on. Since when did wolves knock? 

But since when was he given his own room? Granted, he'd never been a personal slave before, but this was well beyond the generosity of any wolf Stiles had ever been owned by before.

Realizing with another start that he should _not_ keep Derek waiting, Stiles nearly tripped over his own feet getting over to open the door.

"Good morning," Derek greeted, giving Stiles a sheepish, hesitant smile. He looked rumpled and tired, shadows under his eyes, and Stiles probably looked much the same. "I hope you don't mind me..." he mimed knocking, then continued, "But I could hear that you were awake...."

"Should I make coffee?" Stiles blurted out, perhaps ill advisedly. "Cook you breakfast? Is there anything else you want?"

He winced internally as soon as the words left his mouth, but it was too late to take them back. Besides, it wasn't as though he wasn't completely at Derek's mercy here, and it wasn't as though both of them didn't know it.

"Um." Derek looked taken aback by this flood of questions. His gaze slid around Stiles and fixated on the comforter that was still on the floor, over by the dresser, where Stiles had spent the night.

"Sorry," Stiles cringed, not sure whether he meant for speaking out of place, for not knowing whether he should make coffee or not, or for not sleeping on the bed he'd been given. Hell, it was probably best to apologize for all of that and everything else; especially the mess he'd made of last night, both before and during dinner.

Derek raised a hand and Stiles jolted back, but he'd only been moving to run his fingers through his messy hair. Derek froze, hand on his head, eyes wide and mouth open to expose white teeth that were more adorable-looking than fangy. Stiles noticed belatedly that Derek had no shirt on. His chest was broad and perfectly muscled, his torso brushed in dark fuzz that covered his pecs and trailed down from his navel vanish under the waistband of his pajama bottoms.

With one arm raised, bicep bulging, he looked like a work of art. But he was frowning at Stiles, and that expression never bode well.

However, when he spoke all he said was, "Come on into the kitchen." His voice was mild and not as deep as Stiles always half expected it to be.

Stiles padded after Derek as he led the way, trying to acclimate himself to his new home, wondering what his new routine was going to be.

"I'll set up the coffee," Derek said, scratching at his scalp through his thick, dark hair and turning bright eyes on Stiles. "Go ahead and sit at the table."

Stiles wasn't happy about it, but he had a direct order and there was no way he was going to disobey it.

"Is there..." he hesitated to ask any questions, but he _had_ to know, "Is there any written schedule? I need to know when to be up, when to make your coffee, when to have food ready...."

Derek gave him a blank look, then grimaced. "Sorry," he said, and there he went, apologizing to his own slave again. "I've been living on my own so long, I didn't even think of things like that."

He spooned coffee beans into the grinder and then informed Stiles, "Normally I have the coffeemaker set up to automatically come on in the morning, but I forgot last night."

Stiles nodded, his hands twisting in his lap. He would take over the task of setting up the coffee the night before, he assumed, and he tried to focus and watch the way Derek did it, though it was hard when his owner's back was turned to him. Also, his eyes kept getting blurry; he really should have tried harder to get some sleep the night before, even though it had seemed so impossible at the time.

"I get up around six-thirty, except on weekends," Derek continued, after grinding the beans with a loud roar. He dumped them into the filter, then began measuring out the water. "Work out, then have my coffee and some food. Then I get ready to head for my job."

"You--"

Stiles clapped a hand over his own mouth, but not in time. He kind of expected Derek to tear into him for that, but he just shot Stiles a wry look, his mouth quirked.

"I work," he informed Stiles evenly. "I know some people think that the Hale family is rich enough that they don't need to have jobs, but Mom always insisted we earn our own way."

As the coffeemaker sputtered into life, Derek padded over, barefoot, and sat at the table as well, though on the side opposite Stiles.

"I'll be honest," he said, hands folded before him in a move that looked so awkward that he _must_ be doing it in order to look unthreatening. "I work for my uncle. And my mom picked out my apartment. But..." he shrugged. "I'm trying. I'm trying to live my own life the best I can."

Derek sounded so forlorn and lost that Stiles forgot himself and felt sad for him for several long moments. He recalled his emotions from the night before, borderline delirious or not, and he felt like that tiny boy again, listening to his dad tell him that this Derek Hale that they'd never met and only heard of hadn't deserved to be held prisoner and tortured.

If he set aside his fear that Derek would at any moment jump him and give him more scars, Stiles could look objectively at his new owner and see that he did seem to be trying.....

Derek had seemed more angry, more feral, more forceful when he had chosen Stiles in the warehouse, and during the car ride on the way to his apartment. Since then, he'd been less certain, more vulnerable than any wolf Stiles had ever met.

It gave Stiles conflicting feelings, but he just didn't dare to let his guard down. If he did, then it would just hurt that much more when Derek inevitably turned on him.

"Anyway." Derek shook his head, squeezing one hand and then the other, skin going white under the dark hair. He seemed almost... nervous. Though what he had to be nervous about was beyond Stiles. "I work eight to four unless I'm flexing my hours. But you don't need to worry about that right now, because Peter gave me two weeks off."

Stiles chewed on his lower lip, trying to fix this schedule in his mind. It stressed him out to hear that Derek would be here all day for two whole weeks, but it might be for the best, because the sooner Derek's instincts recognized Stiles as belonging here, the safer Stiles would be, and the best way for that happen -- unfortunately -- was for them to spend time together.

Just as the coffeemaker stuttered to a stop, the entire kitchen filled with the rich, fragrant scent, the doorbell rang.

Stiles stiffened, because a visitor this early couldn't possibly be a good thing, but Derek just smiled a little and informed him, "That'll be the clothes Mom ordered for you. I let her know I was up and she had them sent over right away."

That wasn't the best news Stiles had ever heard, the idea of it causing him immediate stress. But on the other hand, he was swimming in Derek's clothes, and the potential for clothing that fit him better was awfully tempting....

Besides, as Alpha Hale had pointed out the night before, he couldn't shame the pack. He had to be seen in clothing that displayed that fact that she could provide for those under her care.

Stiles trailed after Derek as he left the kitchen. He really wanted some coffee, but he didn't dare to take any without permission, and even if it was allowed, he couldn't serve himself without Derek having his coffee first.

Of course, coffee might be a mistake as far as Stiles was concerned. It seemed to act as a stimulant for most humans, but it had always had the opposite effect on Stiles, calming him down and making him sleepy. Considering he'd only dozed a little the night before, being sedated might render him completely useless... but on the other hand, it might still the little rushes of panic he kept feeling, especially when he thought about the fact that he was going to see a doctor today.

Also, he'd always had coffee in the morning, like a ritual, no matter who his owner was, and it would feel weird not to have any today. 

By the time he made his way into the living room Derek had already closed the door behind the delivery person and there was a truly humongous box on the coffee table. Stiles eyed it in alarm, but Derek didn't seem fazed. 

Stiles watched anxiously as Derek brought out the claws and opened the box, revealing its contents. 

"Shoes.... Jeans.... Shirts...." Derek delved in, shoving things around. "Ah, pajamas, good. And I hope you're okay with boxers."

Stiles was about to hyperventilate. Every other owner he'd belonged to had gotten him two uniforms and expected him to make sure they stayed clean. He hadn't ever worn the same sorts of things that wolves did!

"These should fit okay," Derek said, plucking some items out of the tightly packed box and turning toward Stiles. "Mom's got a really good eye for-- Are you okay?!"

Stiles nodded, even though he really wasn't. When Alpha Hale had said she'd make sure he got some clothes, he hadn't been expecting... _this_. And she'd suggested that Derek take Stiles out to pick some out for himself?! _More_ clothes? How? How was the Hale pack _real_?

"Hey." Derek had approached him and was looking at Stiles with a soft expression. Stiles would have taken it as false and put-on, but he read the exhaustion around the edges of Derek's face and somehow he thought that the emotion he was expressing was genuine.

"Just go and put these on," Derek instructed, shoving the bundle in his hands at Stiles. He took it automatically, and Derek gave him an encouraging smile. "Then come into the kitchen for some coffee. And then you can cook us both breakfast if you want."

Feeling a bit as though he was being humored, but also feeling much better for having a clear list of instructions, Stiles retreated to his bedroom to get dressed. Derek had already seen him bare-ass naked, of course, but Stiles appreciated that he hadn't made Stiles get changed right there in the living room.

The clothes fit pretty well. They were a little large; probably Alpha Hale expected him to grow into them. Certainly if he was eating meals with his owner, he would gain back the weight he'd lost while Ennis had owned him, and then when he'd been shunted from vendor to vendor.

Derek had chosen a pair of black boxers, a pair of neat blue jeans with a fabric belt -- which was unfortunately necessary right now -- and a long-sleeved shirt in a warm blue cotton material that clung to Stiles' torso and arms, soft and smooth.

Stiles still had on the red and white striped socks, and Derek hadn't handed him any shoes, so he made his way back into the kitchen once he was done.

Derek smiled when he saw Stiles, his eyes crinkling, and he looked stupidly adorable, even with his stubble and the sharp flash of a canine, not to mention his furry chest and low-slung pajama bottoms. Make that stupidly adorable and incredibly sexy.

"Great," he declared, then waved a hand at the coffeemaker. "You know where the mugs are. If you want cream it's in the fridge, and the sugar is in the container next to the breadbox. The one labeled _sugar_."

Stiles chewed on his lower lip and nodded. It felt kind of strange to be in clothes that weren't Derek's now, even though it had been less than twenty-four hours since Derek had brought him home. 

Derek's cheerful expression went a little mournful, presumably due to Stiles' lack of response to his sally of mild humor, but he just nodded in return, then went to sit down at the table again, cradling his own mug in one strong hand, his phone in the other, thumb dancing over the screen. 

He seemed distracted, and so Stiles felt less awkward than he might otherwise have as he poured himself some coffee, choosing a mug that was plain and white, completely unstained, in an effort to avoid using something that might be a favorite.

Of course, it occurred to him belatedly that he might wind up staining it with his coffee, but by then he'd brought the rim to his lips and the scent was curling around his nose and he realized this was some expensive coffee, not the cheap stuff, and he was torn between delight and horror. He couldn't believe Derek was sharing this with him, but he was very, very glad to have a chance to taste it.

Stiles remained standing near the counter next to the coffeemaker, and after a few deeply satisfying sips, he put his mug down. 

"Breakfast?" he prompted, even though he hated interrupting whatever it was Derek was doing. "Or is it still too early?"

"No, it's fine," Derek said, looking up at him. His hair was flat on his forehead and his eyelids were heavy. "I think I'll skip working out today. I didn't get much sleep last night."

Stiles wanted to ask if wolves even _needed_ to exercise, but he didn't let himself. It was too large a liberty, daring to strike up a conversation with an owner. It was bad enough he had interrupted him in what he was doing to ask about breakfast.

"Is...." Stiles picked up his coffee, as much because it tasted amazing as for something to do with his hands. "Is there anything in particular you'd like me to make?"

Derek perked up a little, though he still looked tired. "Can you make omelets?" he asked.

"I can," Stiles confirmed. In fact, that was one of the first things he'd ever learned to cook. 

"I miss omelets," Derek said in a dreamy tone of voice, his gaze going distant. "Every time I try to make them I just end up with scrambled eggs."

Stiles turned away and bit his lip, swallowing a small huff of amusement. He hadn't felt like laughing in years, but something about Derek's delivery had triggered something in him that he hadn't even known still existed. It was like a catch in his chest, but a _good_ one rather than a bad one.

Searching for a distraction, and telling himself he needed to get on with serving his new owner, Stiles went and pulled a nearly full carton of eggs out of the fridge, then stood there with it in one hand, surveying the rest of the fridge's contents, contemplating.

"Ham? Peppers? Cheese?"

"Yes, please," Derek said meekly. "There's some cheddar already shredded, in the dairy drawer. Do you want any help dicing the ham or peppers?"

Stiles shook his head. "I'm making breakfast," he declared as firmly as he was able when he was talking to a wolf who owned him. 

"All right," Derek said agreeably enough, getting up and pouring more coffee. "I'm going to take that box of clothes into your room, but I'll just set it on the floor by the dresser, okay? That way you can put everything away where you want."

Stiles bit his lip, and focused on his meal prep. He wasn't ashamed to say that he was intimidated by the huge amounts of clothing Alpha Hale had sent for him. It just didn't feel right. 

The jeans he had on hugged his ass and thighs more closely than he was used to, and while he really liked the shirt, he almost wished he was back in Derek's oversized shirt. For some reason. He didn't know why.

He cooked up a couple of large omelets, fluffy and golden -- which was hard to do when they were so full of meat, cheese, and vegetables, an accomplishment he was rightfully proud of -- and put them both on the same plate. By the time this was completed, Derek had returned to the kitchen and was drinking more coffee, his eyes fixed on every move that Stiles was making.

"Cut one of those in half," he instructed, when Stiles would have moved to bring the plate over to him. "Unless you intend to cook one for yourself."

Stiles winced, but he _was_ hungry, his stomach growling. He had no intention of cooking another omelet, and he knew Derek would get pissed if he suggested he just fry a single egg and have it with toast.

He cut off considerably less than half, but it was all he knew he'd be able to manage. After all, Alpha Hale had _said_ last night that his stomach was sure to have shrunk.

Derek was mollified by the effort, and the delight he expressed as he ate the omelet was both gratifying and slightly embarrassing. It _was_ pretty good, though, Stiles had to admit. He'd never eaten one before, only cooked them, and it was pleasant to know that he'd been doing it right all this time.

Once they were done eating, Stiles took the empty plates over to the sink to wash them.

"Thank you," Derek said. "I'll treat you to lunch, okay? But not pizza."

Stiles hummed noncommittally, because it still freaked him out to be thanked for doing something that was his duty. Also, the idea of being rewarded for cooking one meal by not having to cook another meal was... foreign to him. Like so many things were here in Derek's apartment.

While Stiles washed the plates and utensils, Derek continued to watch his every move, continued to stare at Stiles... no, not at Stiles. He was staring at the clothing Stiles had on.

Stiles shifted and watched as Derek's nostrils flared. Stiles understood what was going on; he had spent the night in a room that Derek had surely never visited, wrapped in a comforter that he'd probably not even touched, and now he was wearing brand new clothing.

"Do you want to piss on me again?"

Derek's eyes shot up to meet his, dark and filled with smoldering intensity. It flooded Stiles with something... not fear, but some powerful emotion. He wasn't sure what it was. It was new but it didn't make him uncomfortable the way new feelings usually did.

"I...." Derek shifted, his thick thighs flexing underneath the thin material of his pajama bottoms. He looked conflicted.

Stiles made bad decisions a lot. Obeying his instincts got him in trouble more often than not. And he was still completely lost as to what his place was here in Derek's home, in his position as Derek's personal slave. But sometimes he just _knew_ when something was the right thing to do.

"Come on," he said, drying his hands on a dishcloth and beckoning as he moved to exit the kitchen. 

It felt _wrong_ to be giving a wolf an order, but Derek didn't seem to recognize how wrong it was, because he didn't get angry. His expression was still hungry and more wakeful than he had looked so far this morning as he rose to his feet and padded after Stiles.

There was a heavy warmth at the base of Stiles' stomach as he marched them both to the bathroom. It wasn't anxiety. He couldn't put a name to it, but he thought it might not be completely unpleasant.

Derek paused in the doorway of the bathroom, giving Stiles another super-intense stare.

"Get undressed and get in the shower this time," he directed, then he vanished, stalking down the hall toward his bedroom. It felt right that he had taken charge again, and Stiles felt the tension that had coiled between his shoulderblades when he'd started giving Derek direction unravel.

He stripped off the new clothing as ordered, folding them carefully and setting them on the counter next to the sink. He might be putting them back on afterward, but he strongly suspected....

He was right, he saw, as Derek came back into the bathroom with a shirt and a pair of his own boxers clutched in one hand.

"We have hours before lunch," he said, as though he owed Stiles anything like an explanation, putting the clothes he was carrying on the counter, atop Stiles' new outfit. He didn't seem to care that Stiles hadn't yet gotten in the shower stall, just kept talking. "Neither of us got any sleep last night. So after this, we should go to my room and lay down."

His thick brows twisted and he looked uncertain. 

"Unless you absolutely don't want to," he finished, then he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his pajama bottoms, sliding them down his sharply delineated hipbones and off, dumping them atop the pile of clothing that was rising on the counter.

Stiles stepped into the shower without answering, because he didn't know how to answer.

"I know that you take anything I say as an order," Derek said, pacing deliberately toward the shower stall in a way that raised the fine hairs all over Stiles' body, though that might be as much the chill of standing naked on cold ceramic as it was the large, powerful predator approaching him. "But I really mean it; if you feel strongly that you won't be able to sleep in my bed, just tell me. What we're doing now," he blushed and looked strangely young, "Should be enough."

Stiles was still bemused by the way his owner seemed to react to this simple act of marking him. But he could see the value in sharing a bed again. He'd... actually gotten more sleep yesterday afternoon, dozing off on Derek's bed, in his arms, than he'd done the entire night in the nominal safety of his own room.

It might be bizarre and completely incomprehensible, but he couldn't deny to himself that it _had_ happened.

"A nap sounds good," he got out, bracing himself on the built-in seat in the stall as he knelt, because three decent meals didn't make up for almost two years of being underfed, and he was maybe a little dizzy from lack of sleep as well. 

He couldn't bring himself to -- what? -- give his _owner_ permission to do what he wanted? But he could agree to it, and let Derek make the moves. It was still strange to him, being treated like an individual with a mind of his own rather than as a thing, as a possession.

Derek owned him, but he saw Stiles as a person, not as a mere accessory to his life. Stiles couldn't deal with a lot of the things he'd heard from Alpha Hale the night before, but _that_ he could process and believe.

It wouldn't make him complacent, but he felt like acknowledging it gave him a better insight into how Derek's brain worked and what Derek was going to be expecting of his personal slave.

Derek stepped into the shower stall with Stiles, shutting the frosted glass door behind him, and then resting one hand momentarily on the crown of Stiles' head. Since Stiles was still facing the seat, Derek was at his back, and yet it didn't terrify him the way it usually did when there was a wolf behind him. Stiles blinked, pondering this unnatural response.

The feeling of Derek's piss was almost familiar by this point, this time starting at his nape instead of lower, on his shoulderblades. It was hot and pungent, but again it smelled like coffee, and again that made Stiles almost smile. Well, that was what Derek had just been drinking, and wolf bodies metabolized things faster than human bodies did. 

He almost caught himself wondering what it might smell like if Derek _hadn't_ been drinking large amounts of coffee beforehand, but he really shouldn't be that invested in that thought. Besides, he was probably going to be finding out, eventually.

Stiles remained kneeling, just experiencing the heat and wetness of Derek's urine as it seared over his shoulders, dripping down his chest and back at once, then tracked down his spine. It cooled as it went, a little ticklish, but mostly it felt like safety to Stiles, and so he didn't mind.

This time Derek finished much more quickly and didn't instruct Stiles to turn toward him. What he did do was turn on the water, almost too hot, then raise Stiles to his feet. 

It was an immensely weird experience, being bathed by a wolf, but Stiles managed to convince his instincts that he was doing what his owner wanted. Derek wasn't serving Stiles; Stiles was serving Derek by letting him do whatever he wanted with his body.

He didn't wash Stiles' hair, which made sense considering that Stiles had shampooed it yesterday, but he did run soapy hands over his torso and arms. Since Stiles couldn't imagine a wolf on his knees, he was just as relieved that Derek didn't bother with his legs, instead moving him under the cascade of hot water that pinked up the entire surface of his skin to rinse off the suds, then shutting it off.

Once they were out of the shower Derek wrapped Stiles up in a fluffy white towel, patting him carefully dry before using the same towel to wipe his own much more impressive body free of residual moisture. He pulled his pajama pants back on, then directed Stiles toward the clothes he'd left on the counter. _His_ clothes, not Stiles' new outfit.

Stiles tugged up the boxers; they were loose but at least not about to slide off his hips, and then pulled the shirt over his head. This one was definitely not clean, it smelled strongly of Derek, but that wasn't gross or anything. And if it helped, Stiles was all for that.

It had been kind of nice, briefly, to wear clothing that was his alone and that fit and was clean. But Stiles was more comfortable in whatever made his owner feel comfortable. He wanted to belong here, needed to not ping Derek's predatory instincts as an interloper.

Derek didn't offer him any pants, nor did he put on a shirt himself, and that was okay. It kind of had to be okay, because it was obviously what was happening.

Stiles didn't even really mind when Derek led him back into his own bedroom, throwing back the eiderdown comforter and climbing up onto the mattress.

Obediently, he joined his owner, blinking sleepily as Derek pulled the covers back over them both and tucked him in close, the way they'd been curled together the day before. He was surrounded by heat and powerful arms and the pungent scent of Derek; both ground into the sheets and coming fresh and clean off of the wolf's body. It... wasn't unpleasant. Stiles didn't even go on alert when Derek nosed at the back of his neck with a definite air of satisfaction.

The coffee was what was making him drowsy, Stiles thought. Combined with the hot shower he'd just had, and the warmth of Derek's torso pressed against his own, the way the comforter seemed to embrace and envelop his entire body.

Stiles told himself that the sense of safety he was feeling had to do with nothing other than the knowledge that the more he smelled of Derek, the safer he would be. 

And he actually believed this. 

Because what other reason could there be for feeling safe within the arms of a wolf?

***

Alan Deaton had been the Emissary for the Hale pack even longer than he had been a doctor, and he'd been looking after all of its members, werewolf and human alike, for all those years. 

And that was why he had never encountered a slave in the condition that young Derek's new personal slave was in. Even though he'd known that such abuse and neglect happened in other packs, the Hale pack had always bought from reputable sellers before. 

Despite being forewarned by Talia Hale, Alan still found himself a bit taken aback by his first sight of Stiles. It was more his physical attitude than it was his skinniness or the scar over his left eye, though that was certainly -- no pun intended at all -- eye-catching.

Alan felt an instant and deep sense sympathy for the human boy but he was careful to keep it off his face, sensing instinctively that it would be ill received.

"So. Stiles. Is there anything you can tell me about your own medical history?" he asked quietly, after Derek had brought the boy into his office and had him seat himself in the chair before Alan's desk. He perched on the edge, looking anxious and ready to run, and Alan did his best to keep his demeanor calm, steady, and professional. Even more so than usual, that was. "The papers that came with you didn't include any."

Stiles, as the boy had named himself, shifted minutely, staring at him with big brown eyes. Alan kept his gaze off the sight of that scar bisecting his eyebrow and marring the upper plane of one sharp cheekbone, but he couldn't help wondering how Stiles had gotten it.

Or, far more likely, _been given_ it.

"I...." Stiles paused, glancing over toward Derek, who was sitting next to him in the other office chair, not meeting his new owner's eyes but clearly seeking guidance from him nonetheless. 

"Whatever it is, just tell Deaton," Derek urged before Alan could say anything similarly encouraging. "I want him to be able to help you. I want you to be as healthy as possible."

Stiles blinked, meeting Derek's eyes now, then nodded. He turned back toward Alan but kept his gaze turned downward.

"Once, when I was little," he said, his voice hoarse and so quiet Alan had to strain to hear him, "A human doctor saw me. He said I have... ADHD?" He glanced up, amber flashing in the deep, vivid brown of his eyes, and bit his lower lip. "I don't know what that is, but it makes it hard for me to focus, I think."

"That _is_ what it does," Alan agreed kindly, folding his hands before him. He could understand why Stiles had wanted to hide that, not wanting to show himself as a defective human in front of Derek, but he needn't worry. Things like that didn't matter one bit to the Hale pack, and Derek was only frowning at Stiles in concern.

Stiles, of course, didn't realize where the expression was springing from, and he curled more miserably into himself.

"And since then?" Alan prompted gently. He'd give Stiles some tests and see if he might need to be medicated. If he had ADHD that would certainly explain some of the things Derek had told him about the boy in the email he'd sent the night before.

Stiles' brows knit and his hands were wringing together in his lap. "That's the only time I've ever seen a doctor," he admitted.

Alan glanced sharply at Derek as he caught movement out the corner of his eye, and he gave him a stern look. Whatever Derek had been about to say died on his lips and he sank back into his chair, but he didn't seem happy about it. Well, Alan wasn't feeling very happy about any of this either.

"What about the scar over your eye?" he asked, raising a hand and pointing at his own face. "Didn't that require medical attention?"

Stiles shrugged bony shoulders, hunching into himself. Maybe he didn't like the reminder. Maybe he sensed that he was about to give a less than satisfactory answer.

"I was... unconscious for most of it," he mumbled, speaking into his chest, fidgeting with the sleeves of the oversized shirt he was wearing. It was clearly one of Derek's, though the jeans and shoes he had on fit well enough that they must have been chosen for him specifically.

"So you don't remember seeing a doctor for it at any time?" Alan asked, brows rising, wondering if it had even _been_ a doctor who had taken care of Stiles' wound after whatever had cause it had happened.

Stiles shook his head. "I got cut, I healed," he said simply. "I was lucky."

Derek exchanged a horrified look with Alan, but neither of them stated how awful that was. It shouldn't have needed saying, and if they had said it, Alan was pretty sure Stiles wouldn't understand.

"So you never had a follow-up visit?" Alan asked. That would explain why there had been no records with Stiles' paperwork. Though according to Talia, the papers that Peter had brought her had been lacking in many other ways as well.

"What's a follow-up?" Stiles asked, clearly confused. Alan was appalled on this boy's behalf, but he did his best to hide it because it wouldn't do any good to express his disgust at the neglect Stiles had suffered up until now. Stiles would only interpret the negative emotions as being aimed at himself.

"It's when you have a medical condition that requires treatment," Alan explained calmly, "After you've been given that treatment, a follow-up is when you return to the doctor so that he or she can make sure everything is going well."

"Oh." Stiles fidgeted some more, glancing from Alan to Derek before turning his attention back to his hands. "No, I never needed that."

Alan was generally a calm, collected individual, but he very narrowly restrained a snort at this so completely misguided declaration. It was true that the wound had healed neatly, with no tearing or puckering, just a smooth white line with a silvery thread running through its center, but there was no way that Stiles hadn't needed additional medical attention, even if he hadn't gotten it.

Derek's jaw was twitching, he had his teeth so tightly clamped together, but he seemed to be doing his best to remain silent and not upset Stiles more than he was already rendered by being in a strange situation without any idea of what was expected of him.

"All right," Alan said, not agreeing with Stiles, but it was pointless to hash the matter out now, so long after the fact. "Well, if there's no history to go over with you, then we should proceed with the physical examination."

Stiles immediately looked nervous and Derek went on the alert in response, and Alan barely restrained a heavy sigh. 

He could understand and empathize with Derek's feelings; after all, Alan had had to see Derek a _lot_ more after what had happened with Kate than either of them would have wanted if given a choice. But Derek's powerful emotions were only going to feed into Stiles' anxiety in a self-defeating loop, and that wasn't going to work out well for any of the three of them.

He rose. "Stiles, if you would come with me into the exam room. Derek, you can stay here in my office or go out into the waiting room where there are books and magazines. There's also a tablet you can borrow at the desk if you'd rather to browse the internet."

Derek's heavy brows lowered, just as Alan had expected them to do. "But--"

"If you don't wish to wait alone," Alan overrode him, his own thinner brows raised, "I can call your alpha to keep you company."

Derek stared at him incredulously for a moment, then deflated, clearly reading the meaning in Alan's words. Not that he'd been at all subtle.

"I'll wait here" Derek growled, obviously grudgingly, but that was all Alan really needed.

"Come with me," he said, turning his full attention to Stiles, "Please."

Stiles shot an anxious glance at Derek, but when the young beta simply sulked and didn't tell his personal slave not to go, he rose and followed Alan obediently enough into his examination room.

Normally, Alan had one of the McCalls -- Melissa for humans or her son, Scott, for werewolves -- getting the initial information from his patients. But Stiles was a special case. Derek had only brought him home about a day ago and it was going to be hard enough on him when this was over and he would be able to scent Alan on Stiles' skin, gloves or no gloves.

Before he washed his hands and donned said gloves, though, Alan logged into the computer, bringing up the file for a new patient.

"Normally I'd step out while you remove your clothes and put on a gown," Alan said, turning and giving Stiles the most reassuring smile in his repertoire. "But I think in this case we'll make an exception, since Derek has entrusted you to my care."

Stiles shrugged, already reaching for the hem of his shirt. "An entire warehouse of wolves and humans saw me naked," he rasped in an even tone, and he obviously meant it when he added, "It doesn't matter to me."

"It should matter," Alan said, saddened but not appalled. He might be emissary to a pack with more scruples than most where slave ownership was concerned, but he wasn't unaware of how many humans were often treated by other packs. He was mentally and emotionally prepared to deal with Stiles; he just didn't like the necessity.

Stiles paused in the act of removing his shirt to give Alan a deeply confused and slightly disapproving stare, but he didn't question his statement. 

Alan got the sense that Stiles didn't question a lot of things. It was probably safer for him that way, or had been in the past.

He turned back to the computer, keying in the spotty information he had from Stiles' paperwork. Just his date of birth, full name, and the name he called himself by. Alan left Stiles' height and weight information blank, in order to fill them in himself, as it was woefully out of date. The boy had clearly gained several inches and lost several pounds since whenever he'd been officially measured last.

It _was_ good to know he hadn't been this undernourished for long, Alan thought with some relief. That meant that he might be quicker to regain the weight, and he would have suffered less long-term ill effects than if it had been like this all his short life.

Once Stiles was undressed -- he left on a pair of white and grey socks and Alan didn't ask him to remove them -- and in the soft pastel gown that Alan bought in bulk because with werewolves he couldn't wash and reuse clothing like human doctors could, Alan instructed him to step on the scale.

"Room for improvement," he noted, crossing back to the computer in type in the numbers. "But not as bad as I expected."

"Muscle weighs more than fat," Stiles offered, stepping off the scale and fidgeting. 

Alan made a note, mental this time, of the movements rather than his words, since he already knew that and agreed. Most abused human slaves learned to be perfectly still, and when he had been in the office, in the presence of his owner, Derek, Stiles had indeed been _mostly_ unmoving. But he hadn't been completely able to maintain this, and now that it was just him and Alan in this examination room, he was shifting, touching the gown, chewing on his lower lip....

All small movements that would attract a werewolf's attention and ping their predatory instincts if they were the sort to give in to their more primal nature, which fact Stiles was sure to know. But if the boy truly did suffer from ADHD, then any amount of _knowing_ that he was annoying his owners wouldn't be enough to make him be still.

It must have made his obviously hard life even harder, Alan thought ruefully. And now that he was finally in a position to see a health practitioner who could do something about it, prescribe him medication to help, it was when he had an owner who _wouldn't_ be triggered by his constant movements, one who would never lash out of hurt him in any way.

The irony was painful, and Alan grimaced slightly, but he didn't think Stiles noticed.

"All right, time to check your blood pressure," he said, gesturing to the large exam chair that took up most of the space in the room. "Please seat yourself."

Stiles sat obediently, paper crinkling underneath him. Once that was accomplished, Alan put on the gloves. The less skin-on-skin contact there was between himself and Stiles the better it would be where Derek and his feeling of possessiveness and protectiveness was concerned.

Stiles held still as Alan took his blood pressure, watching every move he made with keen eyes.

"I'm going to check your lungs now," Alan said, settling his stethoscope in place, using the smooth and soothing patter that he employed with the pack's children, making sure to explain each action before he moved to do it. "Sit up straight for me and take deep, steady breaths, please."

"I remember this," Stiles said, but then he clammed up and did as he'd been instructed, his spine stiff and his jaw tight. Alan wondered if they were good or bad memories. If someone had cared enough to get him in to see a doctor who specialized in humans, it was likely that he'd still been with one or both parents, or some other form of caretaker, but Alan wasn't going to take anything for granted where Stiles was concerned.

Hopefully he'd been allowed to have something approaching an actual childhood.... Of course, sixteen was still considered a child by some. But looking at the scars Stiles bore on his back and elsewhere on his body, Alan didn't think Stiles had been allowed to be a child for a very long time.

Stiles remained silent while Alan continued his exam, except to answer direct questions. He didn't seem upset or frightened, just distant. 

"Do you have any pain anywhere?" Alan asked, once he'd completed the general exam and put any pertinent notes in Stiles' file on the computer. "Any recurring problems?"

He'd almost said "recurring complaints" but had caught himself in time. Because if there was one thing Stiles clearly didn't do, it was complain.

"I'm fine," came Stiles' rough reply, and to his credit he sounded like he believed it. But after a moment he bit his lower lip and gave Alan that sidelong glance that Alan was coming to be familiar with. "Sometimes...."

"Go on," Alan prompted, low pressure. He would need to finish up in here soon or Derek would probably come bursting in, no matter how much respect he had for his pack's Emissary. Talia had hinted at some bonding in effect between Derek and his new slave when she'd made the appointment with Alan, and so far he hadn't seen anything to dissuade him from this notion.

"Sometimes I get panic attacks," Stiles confessed, voice low and strained, his head bowed. "I don't think there's anything a doctor can do about that, though."

"Not directly," Alan said, bringing a stool over and seating himself informally before Stiles. "You'll find, though, that I am more than just a doctor."

Stiles looked up, nodding. "You're an emissary."

"I am. I'm also a druid, so my remedies aren't always limited to what modern medicine understands."

"Oh." Stiles lips curved in a round circle and he looked at Alan with far more interest than he had exhibited so far. "What does that mean?"

"Well, it means that I can potentially do something about the panic attacks," Alan hedged, though he honestly thought that as Stiles lived with Derek and came to realize that he wasn't constantly under threat of physical assault, those would likely cease on their own; at least for the most part. A nice placebo might not be amiss, though. "But it also means that I'm going to try to do something about your throat."

Stiles reached up without thinking and wrapped his bony fingers around his own neck, then frowned and pulled his hand away.

"Am I right in thinking that at some point you were held by it very tightly?" Alan hazarded. There was no external damage, but that didn't signify.

Stiles' expression clamped into something tight and shut down. "A few times," he rasped, and Alan was reasonably certain that he could fix that. "It's okay now, though," Stiles continued, shrugging spastically. "It doesn't hurt."

"Just because something doesn't hurt anymore, that doesn't mean that damage doesn't exist," Alan informed Stiles earnestly, and he wasn't just talking about the boy's vocal cords as he spoke the words.

Stiles didn't seem to pick up on that last fact, just shrugged and plucked at the hem of his gown a little more.

"All right, Stiles, "Alan forged onward. He'd done the physical exam, had seen for himself as much as he could, and there were no previous records to work from, so he was now going to have to ask some questions to complete the last of the information he needed from the newest member of the Hale pack.

Stiles glanced up, looking tired, worn down. Life with Derek would be good for him, Alan comforted himself, but he knew that it was going to be a practice of patience. He'd do what he could, and Derek would surely be doing his best, but the only thing that was really going to make any significant changes would be time. Time and positive experiences, rather than negative ones. It wouldn't undo all the harm this boy had taken in his sixteen years of life, but it would overwrite the nightmare that the majority of his existence had been so far.

"Tell me," Alan instructed, folding his hands on his knee and doing his best to look like someone Stiles would be comfortable confiding in. It came naturally to him, in general, but Stiles was skittish and deeply paranoid -- not without good reason -- and so Alan knew he was going to have to try harder than normal. "Are you sexually active?"

Stiles stared at him blankly for a long moment, then he shook his head slightly and replied, "No." Then, more firmly, "No, none of my owners ever wanted... that."

Alan relaxed a little, able to write that off of the possible ways Stiles had been abused. Not that being beaten and undernourished and kept in a constant state of fear had done wonders for him, but at least rape -- or even coerced sex -- wasn't a factor. 

Of course, he could be lying. But Alan was adept at reading other people, werewolves and humans alike, and he was certain beyond any reasonable doubt that Stiles was telling him the truth.

"What about with other humans?" Alan prompted gently. After all, there was a reason the human race flourished despite their enslavement, and it had everything to do with sexual relations. He needed to know whether Stiles was going to need extra testing.

"No." Stiles shook his head. "Never." And it might have been hard to believe that he was still a virgin at sixteen, but considering the life he'd lived it became more probable. Lack of opportunity might factor in; if there hadn't bean any potential partners within the same household he served in, that would limit him. And somehow Alan doubted he got out much, met many other humans. Not to mention the probable lack of free time. It was only a guess, but from the looks of Stiles' thin but wiry limbs, he'd been working hard and often for years.

None of that stopped other slaves, of course. But add to this the fact that Stiles had clearly lived under the control of oppressive, violent werewolves and his lack of experience suddenly became far more likely. For some individuals danger kicked their reproductive urges into overdrive, but Stiles evidently hadn't had that reaction.

Besides, he still sounded and looked as though he was telling the truth. He didn't even look as though he cared, Alan thought. But, well, even for a sixteen year old male, sex took second place to survival.... Usually.

This might change as Stiles lived with Derek and came to feel safer and more comfortable. In fact, given that he was sixteen that was highly probable. Unless Stiles proved to be asexual, but Alan considered this to be unlikely.

He asked a few more questions, things that would have been on Stiles' medical transcripts if he'd had any, and then began to wrap it up. They'd only been in the exam room a little over half an hour and Alan had only done the bare minimum, but he knew Derek would only be getting more and more impatient, and he could do a more in-depth check-up later, once both Derek and Stiles were more settled.

"Any concerns you have for me?" he asked, phrasing it a different way in hopes of getting a different answer, and the result seemed promising, because Stiles paused, looking thoughtful.

"Um." 

"Go ahead," Alan urged. "Whatever you have to tell me, I won't share it with anyone else, not even your owner or our alpha, unless I feel it's something that would put the pack or a member of the pack in danger."

Stiles gave him a suspicious look, as though he didn't believe the promise, but then he shifted and bit his lower lip.

"I... have trouble sleeping," he confessed, hands twining together in his lap like independent creatures. "Not just.... It's been like that for a long time."

"How long?" Alan asked carefully. When Stiles didn't answer right away, he prodded gently, "Stiles, I need to know, at least in general, so that I know how to treat you."

"Can you help?" Stiles asked, sounding young and... well, not hopeful, because he didn't do hopeful, but something desperate and aching in his tone.

"I'm sure I can," Alan replied firmly.

After another moment Stiles nodded, seeming to reach the decision to trust Alan with a little more of his carefully guarded personal information.

"It's mostly been since I was sold away from my dad," he confessed, which helped to answer one of Alan's less pressing questions; Stiles _had_ spent at least some of his life with at least one parent. "Some times more than others. If I'm exhausted enough, I'll be able to sleep, but not every time."

Alan hummed, thinking that this was the most he'd heard Stiles speak at one go so far. "And how old were you when that happened? When you were sold, I mean."

"I think... ten?" Stiles hazarded. "It was about two years after Mom died and we stopped counting."

So Stiles had been sold away from his remaining parent well before he turned thirteen; somehow Alan was not surprised by this. He was pleased, though, to hear that the boy had been with both his parents for the first eight years of his life, and his father a little longer. 

"I slept..." Stiles looked toward the door, his expression conflicted, "Better... yesterday and today... when I was in Derek's bed? I don't understand."

This would have been the perfect time to introduce several ideas and facts to Stiles, but Alan sensed that the boy wasn't actually ready to hear any of them, and so he restrained himself. This new information did strengthen the possibility that Talia had been correct about the bond, though, as far as Alan was concerned.

"Well," was all he said, "If it works, I don't see any reason to question it."

Stiles' mouth skewed to one side and he frowned, but he didn't argue.

"Why don't you go ahead and get dressed," Alan said, rising and wheeling the stool back over to the computer stand. "I'll step out while you do, and Derek and I will be waiting for you back in my office."

Stiles nodded and rose, moving to do as directed, slow and a little clumsy. That was the malnutrition, Alan thought, and they were going to work to get that dealt with first. There were other issues, including Stiles' damaged vocal cords, but Alan was a patient man and he wasn't in a hurry to get everything treated at once. Springing too many new things on Stiles right away would result in so much stress that it would be more detrimental to his health than helpful.

Derek was pacing in Alan's office, which he'd been honestly expecting despite his mention of the waiting room. 

"He's healthy enough," he told Derek without preamble, knowing that this was one of the things that would be concerning Derek the most. The walls of the examination room were soundproofed, for obvious reasons, and so Derek hadn't been able to listen in. "Considering the mistreatment and neglect he's suffered, I'd say he's in surprisingly good shape, but don't mistake that to mean that he's doing well. We need to get him up to a healthy weight, and he can't do anything too strenuous in the meantime."

"Of course not," Derek answered indignantly, looking relieved and disgruntled at the same time, which was actually a little amusing but this was a serious subject they were discussing. "I didn't bring him home to make him do any actual work; I just couldn't leave him with that awful vendor!"

Alan bit back a small smile, filing away another piece of proof that Derek had in some way bonded with Stiles. 

Bonding between members the two species was rare, but not completely unheard of, and so far Derek especially was exhibiting clear signs of this phenomenon. And even if Stiles was more reserved, the fact that he would admit to sleeping better in his owner's bed was surely a _huge_ indication where the boy was concerned.

"I'll need to set up a future appointment for him as the Hale emissary rather than as the pack doctor," Deaton continued. "Since his papers didn't include former owners, I'll need to question him about them. But that can wait until he's in a more secure place mentally and physically."

Derek looked conflicted, but he could hardly protest. 

"He hasn't been sexually abused," Alan continued, wincing internally as Derek's eyes went wide and his expression turned into something pained. He hated to bring the subject up after some of the things Kate had done to Derek, but it was something that Derek needed to know about his new personal slave. "He has, of course, been physically abused."

"Of course," Derek echoed blankly. Then his face shifted and he looked more ashamed than traumatized. "I've had to, you know... mark him...."

"That's to be expected," Alan replied evenly. He wasn't a werewolf and didn't have their senses, but he would have been more surprised than not to hear otherwise. Despite projecting an air of almost obnoxious self-confident in high school, Derek had always been somewhat reserved when it came to interpersonal interactions -- the middle child in a loud and occasionally rowdy but always loving family -- and his suffering at the hands of Kate Argent had only made this trait more prominent. Still, it would be almost inconceivable that a werewolf not mark his new personal slave. To not do so wouldn't be safe for the slave, and Derek would do whatever he could to protect Stiles.

Not all slaves underwent such a process -- Talia didn't have to mark every single slave that the pack purchased, for instance -- but personal slaves were a different matter. They lived in close proximity to the werewolves, in their home territory so to speak, and in Derek's case especially it made a huge difference, because he'd waited so long to choose his own personal slave.

"If you don't mark him as yours," Alan assured Derek, because he looked as though he could _use_ a little more assurance, "It's dangerous for him -- both where your instincts and other werewolves are concerned -- and he knows that. Stiles expects you to mark him, and it might worry him more if you didn't. Just remember that when you move to touch him, he's been conditioned to expect you to hurt him."

Derek let out a disgruntled sound. "Trust me," he snapped, "I'll never forget that."

Stiles wouldn't let him forget, the way he flinched away from sudden movements, Alan thought. Well, they'd get that taken care of with time, and nothing but time would effect that change.

"Keep him safe and warm," he continued, because Stiles would be finished dressing and would come join them at any moment. He was safe enough in the examination room; Alan had anything Stiles could harm a werewolf or himself with locked carefully away. "I'll send you a package later today with several items. Medication for his throat, some supplements, and a meal plan to get his weight up where it needs to be. The menu is flexible, with suggested substitutions, but I want him eating well. Just don't expect him to be able to stomach full portions right away."

Derek was nodding. "Got it. Mom already pointed that out to me, and I haven't been insisting he eat more than he's comfortable with." He suddenly looked stricken and shifted awkwardly. "Except the first meal we had together; I gave him three slices of pizza and that was probably too much."

"Well, you were operating on the instinct to provide for the boy you'd brought home," Alan told him consolingly. "And you know better now."

There was a quiet footfall behind him, and Alan didn't turn, instead keeping an eye on Derek's face. The way it brightened, his features sharpening but his body posture relaxing, spoke volumes.

"Stiles," was all Derek said, but that was enough to have Stiles crossing the waiting room to stand beside him. And he didn't even look reluctant. Of course, Derek was something that was familiar in a strange place. Granted, they'd only met the day before, and Stiles was clearly fearful of his new owner, but he also knew Derek better than he knew Alan. 

And also there was the probable bond to take into consideration. 

Derek placed a hand on the back of Stiles' neck, just holding him gently, and Stiles did _not_ flinch or cringe away. Alan took that as a hopeful sign. The boy had been abused and neglected but he could be taught better. The Hale pack, and Derek specifically, would see to it that he became the person he could have been if his life circumstances had been better.

Or, at least as close to it as they could manage.

Derek most likely hadn't even meant to touch Stiles, after what he and Alan had been discussing, but it had been instinct, and it had evidently been the right thing to do.

Talia Hale was a little fearful for Derek, because he'd become bonded to a human boy who was terrified of him, and because he already so clearly cared about Stiles so much. Alan had sympathized with her concern, before....

But now he felt a ray of hope. And he smiled that both of them without any reservations to the expression.

"Stiles, I'll need to see you again," he said. "But right now I'm giving you a clean bill of health."

"For a follow-up, right?" Stiles asked, giving Alan a look that he would have labeled saucy if it had been someone else talking. 

"Yes," he confirmed, though there was more to it than that. Stiles didn't need to worry about that now, though. "Also, as the Hale Emissary I'm required to make a house call at some time during the coming three weeks, since you're not living in the home of the alpha. I'll put it off as long as possible, and it's only a formality, so neither of you has anything to worry about."

Their faces told Alan that they'd both worry anyhow since it was in their individual natures, for different reasons, but he couldn't completely forego the visit. He could delay it for a while, and he would, but it was a necessity.

Besides, he _did_ want to see how Stiles fit into Derek's tiny household.

"Can we go home now?" Derek asked, probably not even realizing how plaintive he sounded.

"Just one more thing," Alan said.

Derek rolled his eyes, but remained where he was. Alan smiled wryly, then walked over to embrace the startled beta, putting some force into his hug.

"Congratulations on getting your own personal slave, Derek," Alan said, holding on tight. After a moment or two Derek hugged him back. "I'm so proud of you.

He was, too. Alan had been the one, second after Talia, of course, to make the most effort at putting Derek back together after what Kate Argent had done to him. It hadn't been pretty or easy, and it had taken years. 

But now Derek was in a position where he could take care of another living being; one who was about as damaged as he was, though in different ways. 

Alan didn't take any credit for this; it had all been Derek. With his mother's unwavering love and support, and Alan offering guidance as both a doctor and the pack emissary, Derek had finally come to this point. And Alan wanted to let him know how very proud he was.

"Thanks," Derek mumbled gruffly. Alan knew that Derek still thought that the slavery of humans was wrong and that he shouldn't even be required to own a personal slave, and he was proud of Derek for that as well. But he couldn't really say so, even with Talia Hale, and her liberal outlooks, as his alpha.

"And Stiles," Alan said, once he'd let Derek loose. Stiles looked alarmed, as though he feared that Alan was going to hug him as well, but Alan only held out a hand for him to shake. "I'm very pleased to meet you. Welcome to the Hale pack."

He'd really wanted to say "Hale family" but his could see Stiles' generous mouth twist at even the suggestion that he was a member of the pack, and Talia had warned him ahead of time that Stiles didn't believe that human slaves could be considered family by werewolves, so he avoided the word that otherwise would have come naturally to his lips.

"Thanks," Stiles rasped in echo of Derek and he was already moving away from Alan, both in his attitude and in the way he took half a step backward, but he took the proffered hand and gave it a firm shake in return. So there was that.

"We're headed home now," Derek said, taking his own step backward, dragging Stiles with him, and Alan kept a close eye on them both, but Stiles didn't seem to be upset by this, so he didn't say anything, except to wish them a safe trip back to Derek's apartment.

"Bye," Derek blurted, practically power walking them both out of Alan's office, 

Talia was scheduled to arrive in about half an hour; that would give Alan plenty of time to begin putting together the package he was sending to Derek's apartment before the end of the day. He'd instructed Derek to feed Stiles correctly, and he'd promised Stiles aid for his throat, his panic attacks, and his insomnia.

Alan believed in a certain balance to the universe. Derek had suffered undeserved at Kate's hands, but Alan thought that he'd just met his soulmate, which might counter that a little. Stiles had spent most of his young life so far being abused and neglected. So now it was time for him to be fed and healed and surrounded by people who cared about him, werewolves and humans alike.

Talia had expressed the hope that Stiles might heal what was still damaged in Derek at the same time Derek healed what had been broken inside Stiles.

And to be completely honest -- which he was, because the thought was in his own head and he didn't have to be diplomatic -- Alan didn't see any reason why she shouldn't be right.

They might need a few nudges in the right direction, but that was what an alpha and an emissary were for.

That was what _family_ was for.

***


	2. Chapter 2

Derek had given some powerful consideration to stopping in the bathroom at Deaton's before they had left. Stiles' skin reeked of Deaton, the plastic gloves Deaton had used during the exam, and the impersonal cotton of the gown Stiles had worn.

He hadn't, mainly because his family visited Deaton on a regular basis and if he'd pissed on Stiles in the bathroom, they would know. He wasn't really bothered by the fact that they'd know he'd done it; it would be that they'd know he couldn't wait, that his grasp on Stiles was that tenuous, that much in need of immediate strengthening.

Stiles was passive and let Derek touch him with his bare palms in an attempt to undo some of the damage done to his scent in Deaton's exam room, not panicking. Derek felt bad about doing it but he did make sure his movements were slow and deliberate, not quick, and that he only touched where Stiles' skin was bare. It still felt too much like molestation to him -- he was hypersensitive about that ever since Kate -- but Derek knew that Stiles knew it was necessary.

Derek regretted his decision to wait on marking Stiles as soon as they set foot in the elevator and he picked up the faint trace of Laura's scent. His older sister was _always_ welcome, and it had been too long since he'd last seen her, and he knew she'd want to meet Stiles, but... well, her timing was really awful.

He unlocked the door, listening for Laura. She was in the kitchen, which he appreciated, making the herbal tea that she preferred over coffee.

"Go and shower again," he instructed Stiles once they were into the apartment. He stripped off his shirt, leaving himself in a tank, and shoved it toward Stiles. "Put this on and the jeans you were wearing this morning." They still smelled new but at least they hadn't been in Deaton's office like the jeans Stiles had on now.

"My sister is in the kitchen," Derek continued, because Stiles had no way of knowing that with his human senses of smell and hearing. "So come and join us once you're clean."

Stiles nodded, his expression impossible to read, and accepted the shirt. He moved to do as directed, and Derek relaxed a little, though he wasn't going to feel completely right until Stiles smelled only of their mingled scents.

Even his mother had said that their personal odors blended perfectly. As much as Derek respected Deaton and felt like the man was family, he didn't like Stiles smelling like him, even a little.

Well, he didn't like Stiles smelling like anything other than _his_. Derek wasn't thinking of Stiles as a possession, the way some werewolves considered their slaves, but he did feel deep inside himself that Stiles belonged to him. Derek belonged to Stiles in turn, too, so it was sort of okay.

Except for the part where it was strange and little alarming. But Derek had learned to listen to what his instincts were telling him. And they said that Stiles should smell like Derek's and nothing else.

Derek momentarily lost himself in pondering if he could ever talk Stiles into marking him with his piss, the way he marked Stiles. It wasn't normally done so Stiles might balk, and Derek shouldn't spring it on him any time soon, but it was such a titillating idea that once it had occurred to Derek, he didn't think he'd be able to forget about it.

But right now Laura was here. And even though the thought of marking Stiles made Derek's bladder feel tight and his cock feel heavy, he wasn't going to indulge this need.

If he was honest, Derek knew that Laura wouldn't judge him for marking Stiles. She was fighting for the freedom of all humans, but she would understand the necessity of Stiles smelling like he belonged here in Derek's space. She didn't approve of the slavery of humans, but she agreed with the rest of the Hale family that they needed to take good care of the slaves they had to have.

But the truth was that Derek wouldn't feel comfortable pissing on Stiles while his older sister was listening. It was an intimate act, and Derek loved Laura but he wanted to keep it between just himself and Stiles.

Derek tugged at the hem of his tank and headed for the kitchen. He could hear the shower starting up and he wanted to be in it with Stiles, but it wasn't every day his sister came to see him. She was mainly here because Derek had emailed her about Stiles, Derek was sure, but the important thing was that Laura was _here_.

This was Stiles' third shower in just a little over twenty-four hours, but it was a matter of making sure he smelled like he belonged, and besides, when he'd come into Derek's life he'd been so filthy that he was _owed_ several baths.

"Laura," Derek greeted as he walked into the kitchen. She couldn't come home to the Hale house anymore -- not because she wasn't welcome, but because it wouldn't be safe for her or for the family -- but she had the code to Derek's elevator, a copy of his key, and the doorman had instructions not to stop her on her way in. 

It was going to be weird and different, having her in his territory now that he had Stiles, but Derek had always been comfortable with her being here before, and hopefully that would carry over and wouldn't change. 

"Derek!" 

Laura leapt into his arms and he caught her, holding on tight and squeezing her just as hard as she was squeezing him. She was his older sibling and Derek had spent so many years in her shadow before he'd grown into himself that he was always a little surprised when he realized she was shorter than him, as well as being far more slender.

"I've missed you so much," Laura said, rubbing her cheek against his jaw despite the risk of stubble burn. Well, with werewolf healing it wouldn't be much more than a momentary irritation, and it was worth it to share their scents.

"Missed you too," Derek confessed, breathing in the familiar smell of her, enjoying the warmth and closeness that they were able to give each other. After Kate Derek had become limited in who he would allow into his personal bubble but family members were always welcome; especially his mother and Laura.

He set her back own on her feet after a few moments and went to make some tea for himself, since she'd put his old fashioned pot on to boil. He preferred the electric kettle, but Laura was something of a traditionalist. Despite her extremely liberal views regarding human slaves and her on-spot fashion sense, she was more of a homebody than anyone else in the family, except maybe Derek himself.

Of course, that might be related to the fact that they were the two who had gone for years each without a personal slave of their own. Laura had gotten one at the usual age, and he was still with her, but she called him a friend and compatriot in her cause, rather than a slave, and she never asked him to do something for her that she could do for herself. Like cooking or making tea. 

Derek strongly suspected they were lovers as well, but he tried not to think about that. Not because Jordan was a human, but because Laura was his big sister. Euw.

"So, you finally did it," Laura said, leaning back against the counter by the sink and sipping her own tea. "You finally got a slave of your own."

"Yeah, sorry," he replied automatically, glancing over his shoulder. It felt so good to see Laura in his kitchen. Maybe he would bristle once Stiles was out of the shower and joined them, but for right now he was happy to spend a little time with his sister.

"Don't be sorry," Laura said fiercely, though her expression was equal parts wry and affectionate. "We haven't freed all the humans yet, so of course you have to have a personal slave. I'm just proud of you that you finally feel ready to take that step. And you're making someone's life better, Derek. There's no reason to apologize for that."

"Well, it wouldn't take much to make Stiles' life better," Derek grumbled, not to denigrate himself, but because it was true, because he might not know any of the details of Stiles' past but he could tell even without knowing specifics that it had been awful.

"How's he doing?" Laura asked, as the two of them sat at the table. Derek positioned himself so that he was facing the kitchen entryway and Laura let him. Stiles was still in the shower, but that was good. The less he smelled like anything other than his own flesh and Derek's bathing products, the better.

Derek had emailed Laura about Stiles, telling her the basics, and that was probably why she was here right now. If he'd been a normal slave, one who hadn't been abused and scarred by cruel owners, then she would likely have stayed away longer.

Or maybe not. After what had happened with Kate, his mother, Laura, and Peter had all become far more protective over Derek than they had been before. So even if Stiles had been an average, undamaged slave, Laura probably would have wanted to check him out.

"Deaton gave him a clean bill of health," Derek said. "We just got back from seeing him. But he also said he needs to see Stiles again." He grimaced and sipped his tea. "Stiles is... he's skinny and he's scarred and he's convinced that I'm going to attack him every time I move."

"Shit, I'm sorry," Laura sighed. "That sucks. But it's good that he's with you now. You'll take proper care of him."

"If he'll let me," Derek grunted, scowling.

"How bad is it, really?" Laura asked, brows knitting. She looked a lot like their mother, but also like Derek might if he was a lot prettier and _hell_ of a lot more feminine. Her hair was long and right now it was loose, even though Derek knew she usually wore it pulled back, ready for action. She looked healthy, he thought, well rested and well fed, and he was glad. Their mom wasn't the only person who worried about her.

"You weren't very forthcoming in your email," Laura continued, her expression serious. At least she wasn't taking this matter lightly, the way Peter had done.

Derek shrugged, because how much more was there to say?

"He freaked out when he found out who I was," he confessed, because that hadn't been in his email. "Mom thinks he thinks I'll take my revenge on Kate through him, and she's probably right. He's been way more scared of me ever since he heard the name 'Hale' and he was already on edge." He frowned. "He spent the night hiding in the corner between his dresser and the wall. He didn't sleep."

Laura gave him a knowing look. "And you would know that because...?"

"You were asking about Stiles, not me," Derek grumped, not ready to tell Laura he'd had a sleepless night too. Especially not when she'd clearly already guessed.

"Well, he's on his way in here," Laura said, as if Derek wasn't listening to every light footfall coming down the hall.

Stiles entered the kitchen with a blank expression that Derek knew masked uncertainty and anxiety, as if the two werewolves couldn't smell the emotions on him. Derek had to give him props for the effort, even though he hated the mindset that made Stiles feel it was necessary.

Stiles looked adorable, with his hair flattened to his skull, his face flushed pink from the heat of the shower, Derek's shirt hanging off of his narrow torso, and those red and white striped fuzzy socks on under the jeans. Derek wanted to grab him and hold him and rub his scent all over him and he wanted Stiles to rub his cute up-turned nose against Derek's cheek and throat....

Laura was looking at Derek with one dark brow arched up in a way that was so much like their mother it was kind of freaky, and even though she couldn't _really_ know what he was thinking, Derek blushed. But then, within a moment, Laura turned her attention to Stiles as well, where it should be.

"Hello, Stiles," she said, rising and holding out a hand.

Derek barely restrained a whine, because she was going to be getting her _smell_ on his Stiles, right after Stiles had _bathed_. But he couldn't stop them without looking and sounding like an idiot and probably frightening Stiles. And then Laura would never stop judging him.

Thankfully Laura either didn't notice his internal conflict or she ignored him, all of her focus on Stiles.

"Stiles, this is my sister, Laura," Derek introduced as the two of them shook hands. At least this time Stiles didn't freak out, like he'd done when Derek had introduced him to his mother. Well, Stiles knew he was a Hale now. He probably hadn't heard of Laura, despite her work on behalf of human freedom, but that was understandable, since she tended to try to stay deep undercover.

"His _older_ sister," Laura smirked. Since she'd set herself up so perfectly, Derek couldn't resist digging.

"You said it, I didn't," he snarked.

"Asshole," she said affectionately, leaning over and ruffling his hair with the hand she'd just used to greet Stiles with. As perfectly as Derek and Stiles' scents meshed together, Laura's scent wasn't exactly a pleasant addition. At least not to Derek's nose. He loved his sister, but Stiles was _his_.

Derek squawked and tried to duck, long years of habit guiding his movements, squirming to one side away from Laura's hand and almost falling off his chair.

"Laura!" 

"What?" she asked relentlessly. "Did I ruin the perfect mess that you took hours to perfect?"

"My hair is _not_ messy," Derek said indignantly. "I lied before; I didn't miss you at all."

"You're a lying liar who lies," Laura mocked, and for as long as they went between visits it had taken them about ten minutes together before their behavior devolved into what they'd been like as children. Hell, they hadn't really ever matured.... Though Derek _was_ grateful that Laura was willing to tease him at all; she'd stopped for a while after Kate.

Sometimes Derek felt like his life was divided into two parts; "before Kate" and now. Sometimes he felt like he was divided into two people, that he'd changed so much he wasn't the same person anymore that he had used to be.

But then Laura started teasing him and he responded in kind, and he knew he wasn't really a different person at all. He was changed, but he wasn't completely transformed, and that was a good thing. Kate had held enough power -- too much power -- over him while she'd been alive and keeping him prisoner with doses of powdered wolfsbane and electricity and chains, torturing him. He didn't need her having any control over his life now that she was dead.

"Stiles, would you like some tea?" Laura asked before Derek could. Which he'd been about to do, he swore, before Laura had distracted him. Well, he'd probably have thought to offer. Maybe. It was Laura's tea, though, so it was just as well she be the one to ask.

Stiles was staring at them both with wide eyes, his red lips parted. This expression made Derek instantly anxious, but he thought that Stiles looked more confused than anything else. At least he didn't look as frightened or anxious as he usually did.

"I.... I can...."

"No, I insist," Laura said briskly, giving Stiles a warm smile. "But maybe you and Derek can whip up something to snack on? That'd be awesome."

Stiles looked at Derek, seeming almost fearful now, and Derek tried to give him an encouraging lift of the brows, but he wasn't sure he communicated what he was trying to communicate. He and Stiles really seemed to get their wires crossed pretty much constantly.

"I'll slice some ham and cheese if you put it on crackers," he offered. He knew that Stiles would feel better if all the food prep was left to him, but he didn't want to set a precedent, he wanted Stiles to learn what was expected from him here in their home. And what Derek expected was for them to _share_ the cooking duties. A lot of personal slaves were chefs as well as chauffeurs, they cleaned their owner's homes, they did their laundry, and many other tasks.

Maybe it was because he'd gone without a personal slave for so long, maybe it was because he didn't believe that humans should be enslaved at all, but Derek was used to and _wanted_ to do most of those things for himself. He _enjoyed_ cooking, and he was good at it. He wouldn't mind Stiles helping him... or him helping Stiles... but there was no way he'd be staying out of his own kitchen just because he had a personal slave right now.

Stiles nodded, rolling up his overlong sleeves and going to the sink to wash his hands, even though he'd just bathed. Well, he'd shaken hands with Laura, and who knew where she had been.

Derek dragged his eyes away from Stiles, toward his sister, and caught her smirking at him. He pulled a sour face, and she stuck her tongue out. So incredibly mature. No one would think in looking at them that teenaged Derek had endured days of physical and psychological torment, or that Laura was currently doing a damned good job of leading the cause to abolish all human slavery.

"Are you staying for dinner?" Derek asked, opening the fridge after directing Stiles to grab both the wheat and the rye crackers out of the pantry. He desperately wanted her to say "no" but....

"It would be a shame to make the trip and not stay for dinner," she said cheerfully, giving him a look that told him she knew what he wanted but she wasn't going to let him get away with being antisocial. That wasn't it, though. Derek just wanted some time to have Stiles to himself. But he couldn't tell her that, because Stiles would hear and take it the wrong way and completely panic.

"I'll spring for take-in, of course," Laura continued, pouring the steaming water for Stiles' tea. "Whatever you want."

Derek grunted, resigning himself to having his sister stay for dinner. Well, that might make Stiles feel more comfortable about eating at the table... if it didn't make him more _un_ comfortable, that was.

Stiles was hovering awkwardly next to the two big platters he'd put on the counter, placing crackers deliberately on them. Derek hurried to slice the cheese, so that Stiles could start on that, and then grabbed the ham.

He'd diced part of it for their omelet earlier in the day. Now he sliced the rest, cutting the slices into smaller squares, and once that was completed he turned those over to Stiles as well.

"I'm setting your tea on the table, Stiles," Laura said, then drained the last of hers and went to make another mug. Derek's mug was still half-full, so he was left out of the procedure. He was okay with that; he really did prefer coffee.

As soon as Stiles finished one of the platters, Derek grabbed it to carry it over to the table while the boy started the other. He knew that Stiles expected to do all the serving, but he also knew that Stiles was weak and needed to regain his strength. Derek didn't want to risk him potentially dropping the food and freaking himself out with expected punishment.

"Get us some plates, lazy older sister," Derek ordered Laura, smacking her hand when she grabbed at a cracker topped with a generous amount of cheese and ham the moment he set the laden platter down.

"Get some fruit, then," she retorted through a mouthful of snack food. "I swear, you court scurvy around here."

"Werewolves don't get scurvy," Derek said scornfully, going to the fridge and grabbing a container of strawberries that he'd bought just the other day. "And I do so eat fruit. You're thinking of Cora; she's the one who's all meat all the time."

Laura pulled a face. "Maybe now, but I've been away so long that my knowledge of my younger siblings can be a little sketchy. And I don't think I'm misremembering that you went through a stage where you wouldn't touch anything that once grew out of the ground, brother mine."

"Maybe when I was five," Derek scoffed, rinsing the berries and dumping them in a bowl. Then he sobered. "I'm sorry you can't come home, Laura. It really sucks, and you know Mom misses you a ton."

"I know." Laura set the plates down on the table, and she looked pensive, though not really _sad_ , per se. "I do know, and I miss her just as much. But we all know why it's safer for me to stay away."

"Yeah." Derek was just glad that this moratorium on visiting home didn't include his apartment. It wasn't because Laura didn't mind putting him in danger's path, he knew. It was because their mother was such a prominent alpha that being seen to "harbor" someone who was actively working to dismantle the entire construct of human slavery, even if it was just a daughter coming home to see her family, would be a detriment to Talia's own efforts to bring about equality, and many might view it as a sign of weakness.

Assholes, one and all, Derek thought angrily, fetching the other platter of snacks that Stiles had just finished. Humans shouldn't be enslaved in the first place, but Talia and Laura's differing ways of dealing with the issue shouldn't mean that Laura didn't get to come home for holidays, or even just stop by to say "hi" to her family.

Well, at least she was able to visit Derek. There were still those who knew his name, who knew that he'd been held and tortured by a human. But he looked so different now than he had at seventeen -- no longer slender and gawky -- that most didn't recognize him by his face. So to _most_ werewolves he was just a nobody, and there was very little hazard inherent in entertaining Laura for a few hours at random times.

"Come and sit," Derek told Stiles, taking the strawberries over and putting them on the table as well. The boy looked lost, but he also seemed fascinated by Derek and Laura's banter, his gaze flitting back and forth between them, his mouth hanging open a little, drawing attention to how plump his lips were. Derek felt a little uncomfortable noticing that, but he couldn't un-see it now.

"Your tea is ready," Laura added, gesturing toward the steaming mug. Derek grimaced and went over to grab a water out of the fridge. He'd drink the rest of his own tea, but it wasn't his favorite. Besides, he needed to hydrate; especially if he was going to be marking Stiles as soon as Laura was on her way out of his apartment later in the evening. And he was definitely planning on doing just that.

"We'll all sit," Derek said, placing a careful hand between Stiles' shoulderblades and giving him the smallest nudge, just to get his feet moving. "That is, unless a certain someone insists that I get vegetables of some sort to put out for snacks."

Laura gave him a horrified look. "Vegetables? What are you, a rabbit?" She tilted her head and got a devilish gleam in her eyes. "Well, though, you _do_ have those cute bunny teeth...."

"Ha-ha," Derek snarled, then clamped his lips together when he realized he'd just exposed his two front teeth, which Laura had been teasing him about practically since they'd grown in. He glared at Laura. Stiles was staring at him now, and Derek flushed. Damn older sisters. Now Stiles would be thinking of a rabbit every time Derek opened his mouth.

Well, that was better than thinking about his previous owners and the way they'd hurt him, Derek supposed. He'd been hoping to find some way to convince Stiles that he wasn't planning on attacking or punishing him; evidently what he'd needed to do was have Laura stop by and begin treating him like a younger brother!

If it worked, though....

"We'll get some veggies with dinner," Laura said, piling her plate with ham and cheese on crackers, and a big red cascade of strawberries. "I'm all about being healthy, but vegetables are a meal sort of thing, not something you eat as a snack."

Derek shrugged. Sounded good to him, though he didn't mind having vegetables as a snack, if it was the right vegetable. He'd just as soon sit here and eat the food they'd already prepared, rather than having to get back in the fridge and try to figure out something else to add.

"How have you been, Laura?" Derek asked, nudging Stiles' plate and giving him a meaningful lift of his eyebrow. Stiles bit his lower lip and hesitantly plucked a few snacks off the platter. Derek turned his attention fully on Laura, both because he'd asked her a question and because he knew Stiles would feel more comfortable eating if he wasn't being watched.

"Good," Laura said, popping a strawberry in her mouth and chomping it with relish. "Mm, I've missed these."

"Are you not able to get strawberries?" Derek asked, concerned, worried that Laura might be roughing it just a little too much, even though she was clean and smelled healthy and was dressed in nice clothing. "You're not unable to get groceries, are you?"

She gave him a _look_ and answered, "No, it's because Jordan is allergic, dumbass."

"Euw," Derek said before he could censor himself. He could only think of one reason _Laura_ would have to avoid strawberries if it was her former personal slave who was allergic. And he just didn't want to go there where his older sister was involved.

"Like you're one to talk," Laura said snippily, wrinkling her nose at him and eating two more strawberries with great deliberation and an overabundance of attitude.

"What?" Derek probably didn't want to know what she was talking about, and was just as glad when she didn't answer his almost involuntary query.

"I'm doing fine," she said instead, getting back to his previous question. "Things are moving slowly, but they're moving. We've figured out a way to get escaped slaves into Canada without much danger of them being caught, even though it's not foolproof. Any attempt is better than them staying here, though."

"That's great," Derek said, because it was. "But are there homes, jobs, family for them once they're up there?"

Laura grimaced. "Usually. We do as much as we can, but sometimes all that really matters is survival. And if there's no actual family, there's almost always someone who has been in the same position that's willing to open their hearts, and sometimes their homes, to those who are new from the hard life and in need."

Derek nodded. If someone had been able to help Stiles get up to Canada.... Then Derek would never have met him and that was an awful thought, but it was the slaves _like_ Stiles, the ones who were being used and abused and scarred and mutilated and killed that made the reformations their mother was working on so important, and made what Laura did even more immediately vital.

Humans were still enslaved in Canada, but they had a _lot_ more rights up there, and their protection was taken far more seriously. Slaves who made their way over the border weren't exactly welcome... but they were never deported back where they had come from because if they made their way to Canada it was for a very good reason. Which was why part of Laura's energies went toward helping so many slaves out of the country.

Derek dared a glance at Stiles, who was listening to them with an unreadable expression. He wasn't eating, but Derek didn't think now was the time to poke him about it. He did, however, grab the bowl and pour some strawberries onto Stiles' plate, then took some for himself. There was no way Laura was going to eat them _all_ , even though he didn't begrudge her enjoying _some_ of them.

"What about your other areas of effort?" Derek pursued, uncapping his water and taking a slug. The ham was salty and it made him thirsty.

Laura pursed her lips. "That's... going more slowly..." she said, looking pensive. "One step forward, two steps back, you know.... But I think it's best if I don't speak in specifics. For your sake more than mine."

"All right," Derek said agreeably. He considered that he was just lucky to have Laura sitting here in his kitchen with him. And if he didn't know the details of what she was doing, he wouldn't know how dangerous it was, which might save him worrying about his sister....

As it was, he took some comfort in thinking that she would be being careful in order to keep Jordan safe, right? Because he was a human. So by association, hopefully she'd be staying safe more often than not. He hoped.

"What about you?" Laura asked, eating more ham and crackers. "Aside from your completely adorable new housemate, that is." She gave Stiles a broad wink.

Derek chanced another glance at Stiles, biting back a grin when he saw the stunned, deer-in-headlights look on his, yes, frankly adorable face. He was grateful to Laura for treating Stiles normally, for not calling attention to his scarring, his skinniness, his skittish behavior.... But then, she worked with a _lot_ of humans who were in the same situation Stiles was in, and so by now she would have learned how best to deal with them. All of the Hales were smart, and Laura was no exception.

"Not much has changed, other than that," Derek said, because it was true. "I'm still working for Peter, but he's not going easy on me, I swear."

"No, he wouldn't," Laura said, pulling a sour face. She and Peter didn't get along very well, which made Derek feel bad. Because he knew Peter could be prickly and obnoxious, but after his mother he and Laura were the two most important people in Derek's life and while he understood why they clashed that didn't mean he had to like it. "If anything, he's probably putting off some of his own work on you."

"I like to think I'm intelligent enough that I'd recognize if that were happening," Derek said mildly, not trying to defend Peter, but, "Come on, Laura."

"Sorry, bunny-teeth," she said, reaching over and cupping his cheek briefly with a hand that smell of tea, ham, strawberries, and her own unique scent. He really had missed her, and he didn't mind her mingling their own scents, as long as she wasn't touching _Stiles_.

"That's not to say he hasn't _tried_ ," Derek added, giving her a little grin. "In the past. But I shut that shit down fast."

"That's my baby brother," Laura laughed, ruffling his hair again. 

"Dammit, Laura!"

From this point their conversation naturally turned to Laura asking about various members of the family and Derek catching her up. He let her know of any important events by email, of course, but it was the little day-to-day things that she missed and liked hearing about.

Once all the snacks were gone, Laura brewed up some more tea, Derek got both himself and Stiles some water, and the three of them moved to the living room. 

Like when his mother had visited -- had it really just been the night before?! -- Stiles ended up alone on the loveseat, while Derek lounged on the sofa with Laura. This time Stiles sat back, leaning into the cushions and curling his feet under him, looking far more relaxed than Derek had yet seen him, even though his hands were wrapped tightly around his water bottle and his eyes were fixed on the two werewolves in the room, both watching them interact with fascination and staying on alert at the same time.

It made Derek feel sad and angry that Stiles still felt this was necessary, but when he compared his behavior and body language now to how he'd been the night before, he had to admit that the change was tremendous and promising.

And in less than a day, even. Having Laura here really was working to his benefit, Derek thought. Completely aside from just being happy to spend time with his sister, he was grateful to her for this.

Stiles still hadn't said a single word, except for his stuttering effort to offer to brew his own tea, but Laura didn't seem to mind and she didn't push. Derek let Stiles be as well, because what good would trying to make him talk do? 

As it did when they talked, the conversation shifted around to the subject of Laura's greatest passion. Derek was still stinging over the fact that he'd basically _had_ to get a personal slave, and while he would never regret purchasing Stiles, he did regret that Stiles had been available to purchase.

"Peter just doesn't get it," he grumped, peevish over that fact even though Peter had been helpful and -- for him -- relatively patient the day before. "I try to ask him how he would feel if the humans had enslaved _us_ , and it's like his brain won't even function that way. He won't even entertain the possibility."

"That's pretty common, though," Laura said, not leaping on the chance to criticize their uncle, which Derek appreciated. "Even those who support the elimination of slavery altogether can't imagine a world in which we're the minority and the humans are in power. Even though, with a few key differences in history, it might very well have happened."

Derek nodded, because he'd heard all that before, from Laura, and he'd done his own research as well. He wasn't as militant as Laura was, tended more to take his mother's view, but he could see both their sides. What he _couldn't_ see was Peter's viewpoint, where he was fine with slave ownership and didn't care about all the slaves like Stiles who were out there being damaged and destroyed every day. He knew Peter tended to selfishness unless someone he personally cared about was involved, but it was still hard for him to reconcile that reality with the uncle who'd held him close after killing Kate, keeping him sane and in one piece until his mother had arrived.

"You do realize," he said, because he worried about Laura and was a little afraid that someday she would start a war that might finish her, "That realistically speaking we can't completely disband the civil convention of human slavery; not without deconstructing our economy and even our society past the point that it's self-maintaining." 

Laura scoffed. "Fancy words to say that the werewolf population has become totally dependant on the human race to do all their dirty work and hard labor for them."

Derek shrugged. "That doesn't make it not true."

"It _can_ be done," Laura insisted. "We just need the right people in charge."

"But the right people will never be in charge," Derek pointed out, and he didn't want Stiles to think he was pro-slavery, but he did worry about Laura, that she might wreck her life in pursuit of something that could never possibly happen. "To make the changes necessary... that would _destroy_ a lot of packs that are very powerful now, the way things are. So of course they're going to fight any possible change of that nature."

"There are ways around that," Laura said cagily, but before Derek could ask her what she meant, she was moving onward. "In Australia humans are considered citizens, right alongside the werewolves."

Derek huffed a little laugh and shook his head. "In Australia, they say the humans are as scary as the werewolves," he said. "They have to be to survive the native wildlife."

"My point is, it can work," Laura pursued. 

"And _my_ point is that I'm worried about you," Derek blurted, brows lowering. "I'm not opposed to your goal, Laura. I'd love to see complete freedom for humans, I really would. But I just don't see how our country, as it is now, would be able to support that if it happened."

"Don't stress about it," Laura soothed, reaching over and threading her fingers through Derek's hair. "Just live your life and be happy, Derek, okay? I'm doing okay, I'm staying safe, and I'm being smart about what I do. You have your own things to focus your attention on."

"You can't tell me not to worry and expect me to just do it," Derek grumbled, but he did feel a little better with Laura offering him confident assurances and petting his head a little. "I just _miss_ you, okay? I know what you're doing it important, but don't ever forget that _you_ are important to me."

"Aw." Laura threw her arms around Derek and held him tightly. "It's okay. I'm fine. I wouldn't visit you if I wasn't."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Derek mumbled into her shoulder as he held on tightly. "That someday you might just stop dropping by?"

"That wasn't what I meant," she chided, giving him an extra squeeze that robbed him momentarily of breath. "And you know it."

Maybe it was for the best that at this point there was a knock on the door. It was Scott McCall, with the package Deaton had promised.

"Hey, Laura," he greeted cheerfully, handing it over without trying to set foot in the apartment. Everyone knew how Derek was about his personal space, and while Scott sometimes forgot himself, he was usually respectful of others' needs.

"Hey, Scott," Laura greeted, giving him a bright smile. "Nice to see you looking well. Tell your mother I said hi, okay?"

"Will do," he replied, bobbing his shaggy head. He was a werewolf but his mother was human. Derek had never asked what had happened to cause that, and no one had ever enlightened him. It wasn't any of his business, though he was curious. Most likely Scott's father had been a werewolf. That was far more likely than Scott being bitten by a rogue alpha and surviving -- something that almost never happened, since it was even more taboo than werewolves becoming sexually involved with humans -- but that was also a possibility.

"Thanks," Derek grunted, clutching the package from Deaton. It wasn't even half the size that the box of clothing had been, but it was still pretty bulky, it was heavy, and it smelled like Deaton and medication, making Derek wrinkle his nose in distaste.

"See you guys later," Scott said, and his dark gaze did flicker over Derek's shoulder, eyeing Stiles with interest, but he didn't obviously pry and he didn't make any effort to prolong his stay.

"He's a good kid," Laura said, as Derek closed the door and carried the box over to the coffee table, feeling a slight sense of deja vu, since he'd done the same with the clothes his mother had had delivered. "Kind of a flake sometimes, but good."

Derek grunted, more interested in what Deaton had sent than discussing Scott McCall, though for the record he agreed with Laura. Deaton handled all of Derek's medical affairs personally, after Kate, but Derek knew that Scott was Deaton's assistant whenever another werewolf family member visited the clinic, and he was considered family.

"What's that?" Laura asked curiously, scooting forward and peering at the box as Derek sliced through the tape with a single claw.

"It's from Deaton," he replied absently.

"Oh, really?" Laura sassed, voice dripping with sarcasm. "It reeks of our pack emissary and was delivered by his assistant; I had no _idea_ that Deaton sent it."

"You're so funny," Derek told her dryly, glaring. "Anyway, if you deduced all that, you should be able to figure out what's in it."

"Asshole," she said with no heat and a smile on her lips. "A housewarming gift for Stiles?"

Derek snorted, but she wasn't completely off. He glanced up as he opened the box. "Hey, Stiles," he said, speaking to the boy who was still sitting on the loveseat, staring at the box as though he feared it might contain a rattlesnake or something. "This is more for you than me; do you wanna look?"

Stiles bit his lip and shook his head slowly, but he moved reluctantly to the edge of the loveseat, feet planted on the floor and hands clutching at the cushions.

"All right," Derek said, delving into the box contents. "Yikes!" 

As Deaton had promised, there was a meal plan, twelve pages printed front and back. Derek paged through it quickly. "This looks pretty straightforward," he told Stiles, giving him an encouraging grin. "It's all stuff I would be eating anyway. He even included some recipes, even though I mostly cook from scratch."

Stiles' brows wrinkled and he gave Derek a confused stare. Derek wondered if he'd ever actually specifically explained....

"You're my first personal slave," he said earnestly. "And the only one I'll ever have. I put off getting one for a long time, because I don't think slavery is right, and because I have some issues due to the thing with Kate Argent. So I've been cooking for myself ever since I got this apartment."

And, great, now Stiles was staring at him like he'd grown two heads. Laura, on the other hand, looked stunned melting into thoughtful. Derek scowled at her, shrugged uncomfortably, then shoved the meal plan into Stiles' lap.

"Let's see what else," he mumbled, ears burning. He knew Laura was shocked that he'd spoken so openly about his problems after Kate's torment to someone who was virtually a stranger... and yet to him Stiles _wasn't_ a stranger. He'd been here a little over a day but Derek already felt like he belonged and he felt like he'd known him forever, had just been waiting to find him, and now that he was here, Derek had no intention of ever having to live without him.

"Pills," he said, rattling the bottles. He read the labels. "Vitamins and other supplements, like Deaton said. He's got notes, to take one a day with dinner. That works."

He set the bottles down and plucked a large ceramic jar with a corked top out of the box; one of three, in fact. This one had a label affixed as well. 

"This is for your throat," he informed Stiles, reading the neat handwriting that Deaton favored over typing things and printing them out. "Drink a shot glass full once in the morning and once in the evening. Huh." He grunted and scowled. "I don't _have_ a shot glass."

"Right there," Laura pointed. And Deaton had indeed helpfully included the aforementioned shot glass, wrapped in tissue, nestled near the jars of medication. 

Derek shook his head, sighing. "Only Deaton would come up with such a weird unit of measurement," he complained. "A shot glass? Really?"

Laura snickered, and Derek gave her a dirty look.

Stiles was still just sitting there, though he'd moved enough to wrap his hands around the edges of the meal plan that Derek had plunked on his thighs. He was staring at the box with less trepidation now, but he still looked uncertain. At least he no longer seemed freaked out by the fact that he was Derek's first personal slave.

"There's tea for your throat as well," Derek said, putting the jar back in its bed of tissue paper and shoving things around. "The note says to brew it whenever, but to try to have it once a day." He glanced up at Stiles with a little smile. "He really wants to get your voice back to normal."

Stiles shrugged, his wide mouth skewed to one side.

"That'd be nice, if his stuff helps," Derek told him, trying to be honest without sounding condescending or too sentimental, "But whatever you sound like is fine, because it's you."

He could feel Laura staring at him, and he knew his ears were going pink again, but he held Stiles' gaze, hoping he wasn't imagining the warmth he saw in the deep brown.

Stiles didn't respond, though Derek thought maybe he looked a little softer, as though he believed that Derek wasn't judging him and finding him lacking just because someone had damaged his throat at some point. The pale column of his neck might not be scarred the way the flesh around his left eye was, but Derek of all people knew that not all damage was external and easily viewable.

Ducking his head, Derek rummaged through the box some more. And discovered, in one corner;

"Here's a bag, specifically labeled for you," he announced, pulling it out and handing it over. It felt heavier than he was expecting. He could hear more pills rattling and he was curious as to what was in there, but that was none of his business when Deaton had designated it for Stiles.

"You can wait and open that in your room, if you want," he informed Stiles. "Or... you could open it now," he concluded, as Stiles did just that.

Laura picked up one of the packets of tea, sniffing it and reading the brewing instructions, pretending not to be interested as Stiles removed items from the bag and placed them atop the meal plan that rested on his lap like an impromptu tabletop.

The first thing Stiles removed from the bag looked like a pendant; a simple one, just a indigo bead set in the middle of a round web woven out of very thin leather strips, the whole thing hanging from a thicker leather strap. 

"What's that for?" Derek asked before he could censor himself, as Stiles read the tag Deaton had taped to the strap. "If you want to share, that is," he added quickly.

Instead of replying verbally, Stiles held it out to him, and Derek took it with careful hands.

"This is meant to help you sleep," Derek read off the tag. "Good." He nodded and handed it back. Stiles looked a little surprised, though whether it was at the word or Derek's actions, but he accepted it and dropped it back in the bag. 

Derek was pleased that Stiles had confided in Deaton, and he hoped that the pendant would help. He wondered if there was actually any magic woven into the webbing, or if it was just supposed to give Stiles something to focus on and make him feel better. Either way he hoped it worked.

Next Stiles pulled out the bottle of pills that Derek had heard, and once again he handed it over after reading the label himself.

"I don't need to vet all of this," Derek told him, though he took the pills and ran his thumb over the label. He could smell that they were simple sugar, and this time he knew Deaton was giving Stiles a placebo, but since it was meant to help him control his panic attacks -- which the label made clear -- Derek could only approve. "You're allowed to have things that I don't know about, Stiles. It's okay."

Stiles looked at him as though he was talking crazy talk, and Laura made a small sound of discontent, but Stiles didn't argue and Laura didn't pursue the matter. Neither did Derek; he just handed the pills back to Stiles. He knew he couldn't force Stiles to gain a new mindset immediately, no matter how much he wished he could.

Stiles' eyes widened when he pulled out a small tablet, still in the box, and his hand was shaking a little when he handed it over to Derek.

Laura leaned forward, too curious not to pry, and so Derek read the note Deaton had included on the outside of the packaging.

"This is for Stiles to use to track his medical history, both past and present," he said, already nodding in approval. "He's supposed to note anything he thinks Deaton might find interesting. He can use it with my wireless to email Deaton any concerns he has that are immediate or extra worrying. He can set up a dream diary if he wants. There's already a spreadsheet set up to track his meals and sleep pattern, though Deaton says that part is optional. And, of course, he can just use it as a private tablet and do whatever he likes on it."

He nodded again, handing it back. "That's great. I'm glad Deaton thought if it. I should have already ordered you something like this, but now I don't have to. You can set it up with a private password," he told Stiles earnestly. "That way you don't need to worry about anyone else seeing anything, since you can just email Deaton any of the information he wants."

Stiles was looking... a little pale, Derek thought. As though he was on the verge of panicking. His heart was racing, and the last thing Derek wanted was for him to have another panic attack.

"This comes out of the Hale pack budget," he told Stiles in what he hoped was a soothing, reassuring tone of voice. "Every personal slave has one; in fact, they're usually bigger than this, but Deaton probably didn't want to intimidate you. It's all right, Stiles. This is something you can expect when you're part of the p-pack."

He fumbled a little over the last word, because he really should have been saying "family" but he knew better. Someday he could say it and Stiles would believe it, but now was not that time.

"What else is in the bag?" he asked, trying to change the subject to something less stressful for Stiles. The tablet was relatively light; it hadn't been the cause for the bag's heaviness.

Stiles set the tablet down and reached in the bag again, as though he'd been directed, and Derek hated that, but if it defused the situation a little he was all for it, just this once. He could sense the unhappiness radiating off Laura, but he'd warned her about how damaged Stiles was, and it wasn't as though she wasn't used to dealing with human slaves in this state. Hell, at least Stiles was resilient enough that he had a big chance for recovery. He was young and unbroken. And Derek was _going_ to fix him.

All of Derek's big plans and altruistic feelings fled his mind when Stiles pulled a fair sized bottle of what was obviously sexual lubricant out of the bag.

"What."

Derek was pretty sure his face went through at least four different gradations of red while Laura hooted then cackled like an idiot and asked, "Does that seriously say 'for masturbation or other' on the label?"

Stiles' face was carefully blank, and Derek worried about what might be going on in his mind. He knew he and Laura were both overreacting, but come on, Deaton, really? He groaned and sank his head in his hands.

"Well, Deaton knows what a teenage boy needs," Laura continued, ruthlessly amused, and Derek raised his head to glare at her. 

"Shut up," he grumped. "You're not helping anything here."

Laura was kind enough not to call him on his lie. Their mother had seemed to intimidate Stiles, despite how kind and soft-spoken she had been; just the fact that she was an alpha had been enough to set Stiles in a defensive mindset. Laura, however, was just being Laura, Derek's older sister, and her teasing might annoy Derek, but it seemed to be putting Stiles at ease more than anything had yet.

"Well," Derek said, trying to salvage the unsalvageable situation, "I'm glad that Deaton has thought of everything, I guess." Because he never would have thought to get Stiles lube himself, and Stiles was sixteen; he would need that.

Laura snickered and Derek shot her a dirty look. He supposed this could have been more awkward... maybe if his _mother_ had been here instead of Laura... but if it been Mom, she wouldn't have poked fun like Laura was doing.

"Why don't you take that bag into your room," Derek suggested to Stiles as the boy dropped the lube back into it. "I'll grab this," he pulled the meal plan carefully off Stiles' lap, "And take the box into the kitchen, since that's where most of this is going to end up anyway. Laura can make us some hot chocolate in apology for being a bitch, and we can watch a movie or something."

"You're the bitch," Laura snarked, but she was already up and moving toward the kitchen, so Derek thought they'd probably still get some hot chocolate out of it.

As he carried the box from Deaton into the kitchen after Laura, Derek considered letting Stiles pick out the movie they would watch. But that would probably just put undue stress on him, and besides, Derek couldn't be sure that Stiles even _knew_ of any recent films. It didn't exactly seem as though he'd have had time or opportunity to see commercials or browse movie sites on the internet, much less actually having the leisure to sit and watch films.

"He seems like a sweetie," Laura told Derek in low tones as she grabbed the milk out of his fridge and put a pan on the stovetop. "If you can bring him out of his shell a little."

"You've dealt with this sort of thing," Derek said, suddenly desperate for some reassurance from someone other than his mother or Deaton. "Do you think I can do that?"

"I'm sure of it," she said, squeezing his upper arm. "Just be patient, don't rush him, but don't miss a chance to move forward either."

"You make it sound so easy," Derek said bitterly, mouth turning down a little unhappily. Not that this was an unexpected answer, but he'd been hoping for something more.

"It won't be easy, but it'll be worth it." Laura gave him a smile. "You already care about him a lot, I can tell."

"Yeah," Derek gruffed, because where would be the use in denying it.

"Then everything will fall into place," Laura said, with what Derek felt was misplaced confidence. "And if you ever need any help or have any questions, just email or text me. I'll get back to you right away."

"Thanks." Derek let the gratitude he was feeling bleed into his voice. It was the same thing his mother had said to him, but he felt instinctively that Laura would be more of a help to him, since she had more experience with damaged slaves. "I'll probably do that."

"In the meantime, go and have him help you pick out a movie," Laura instructed, going about preparing their hot chocolate. "Don't make him choose, but give him a chance to give you input."

"I'll do that," Derek said, and since it was a really good idea that was what he did.

***

Stiles was more confused than he could remember ever being before in his life. 

He hadn't been able to believe Alpha Hale when she'd told him that the Hale pack was different, that Derek wouldn't hurt him despite what the human slave, Kate Argent, had done to him. It hadn't felt safe to believe her.

But now, after having met Laura Hale, and listening to her interact with Stiles' new owner....

Stiles knew there was virtually no chance that Derek had gone to the trouble of having his sister _pretend_ to be cute and sassy and a proponent of ending human slavery in order to lull Stiles into a false sense of security; no slave would be worth that much effort.

And while he couldn't tell if a wolf was lying the way _they_ could usually tell when a human was lying, Stiles didn't think Derek had been telling anything other than the truth when he'd explicitly said that he was against human enslavement as well.

That had... turned Stiles' world view on its head, and he needed some time to process, to try and get his brain wrapped around this completely new and shocking idea.

He had to accept the fact that he was now owned by a pack who viewed him as a living being rather than a commodity, one that assigned him value and worth simply because he existed and not because of what he could do for them... or what they could do _to_ him.

It was more terrifying than liberating, but he had to admit that it would be something of a relief to be able to stop expecting the other shoe to drop, so to speak, to stop wondering when Derek would finally stop faking it and hurt Stiles the way all his other owners eventually had....

No, Derek really was _different_. And while different was always scary, in this case it might actually prove to be a good thing. Once Stiles could get himself mentally aligned with this strange new normal.

He didn't get to really enjoy what was the first movie he'd ever had a chance to sit through and watch, because his brain was spinning in circles, trying to come to grips with his new reality and what it meant for him. He didn't feel like he would ever be able to be comfortable with Derek, because Derek was a wolf, but he thought that maybe he could... trust him? A little? At least he could be relatively certain that as long as he didn't screw up too badly, Derek wouldn't use the thinnest excuse to punish him.

And he'd only known Derek for a little more than a day now. This time yesterday Stiles had been terrified, angry, and so very sure that at any moment Derek would turn on him. Now he felt... almost _safe_. At least as long as Laura was in the apartment, because it sounded as though Laura lived with a human who wasn't considered a slave at all. Stiles didn't know who this "Jordan" was, but if Derek was grossed out, then he was probably Laura's boyfriend or something, and if he was allergic to a fruit he _had_ to be human. The only thing wolves were allergic to was wolfsbane.

Well, Stiles was hypothesizing about this Jordan person, but Laura and Derek had both discussed Laura's desire to abolish human slavery altogether. So Stiles couldn't be mistaken about that. And Derek had said he agreed with his older sister, that humans shouldn't be slaves.

A small, instinctive part of Stiles felt that this meant Derek didn't want him, had only brought him home because he'd had to. But the more intelligent part of him recognized that Derek liked having him here, and that he only wished that Stiles wasn't his slave; a completely different mindset.

That was an even stranger concept. Stiles wasn't used to anyone actively appreciating his presence. Kali had liked hurting him, and had kept him around for a while so she could do that. But ever since his father, Stiles had really gone without any form of a support system. He was too spastic and paranoid to really win anyone's heart, even if that hadn't been his fault. His ADHD and the bad experiences he'd had so far had made him what he was.... He'd annoyed more people than he'd ever endeared himself to.

But if he was honest, he thought that Derek actually kind of liked him, a little. He thought that Alpha Hale and Emissary Deaton had seemed tolerant of him. And Laura seemed to think he was worth getting to know. Of course, they didn't know how annoying he could be. That might change. But for right now, it was.... It felt _safe_. And Stiles hadn't felt safe in a very, very long time.

It was so weird that Stiles felt he'd ended up in an alternate universe of some sort. But, reaching up and tracing the scar over his eye, he knew that this was reality.

He was just living in a strange new reality that was alternately exhilarating and terrifying.

Because what if he pissed Derek off too much and he sold Stiles back to a new vendor? What if Alpha Hale decided that having a broken slave wasn't right for her son who had been tortured by a human slave? What if--

"Stiles?" 

It sounded as though Derek had been trying to get his attention for a while, and Stiles startled, biting his lip so hard it hurt to remind himself that just because his new owner was evidently far more tolerant than most wolves, that didn't mean that Stiles didn't have to be vigilant and prove himself to be a valuable asset.

"Sorry," he croaked.

"It's fine," Derek assured him, smiling, and he looked heartbreakingly sweet when he did that, now that Stiles allowed himself to trust in the expression and not read it as a disguised snarl. "I was just asking you if sandwiches were all right for dinner. We can do something else if you want."

Stiles shook his head then nodded, hands twisting around his empty hot chocolate mug. "That sounds good," he said. "Do you want me to make them?"

"No." Now Derek shook his head. "We're ordering them to be delivered. No one's making dinner tonight, because Laura offered to pay."

"Even though I'm an honored guest," Laura said archly, the broad grin on her face clearly showing that she didn't mean the words to be taken seriously. Stiles thought that he... liked Laura. He'd never liked a wolf before. It was a bizarre experience, but she was a person, and she was a good person.

Stiles thought that he liked Derek too, but with Derek there was a whole range of emotions and expectations that Stiles didn't experience with Laura. Laura would eat dinner with them and then leave. Stiles had to live with Derek, and he was going to need to be whatever Derek wanted him to be.

"You're an uninvited guest," Derek sassed his sister, though he was grinning too. And it normally would have been an expression to strike fear into Stiles' heart, but he knew now that Derek wasn't really serious, that he wouldn't be attacking Laura, that he wouldn't be taking his disgruntlement out on Stiles.

"You love me," Laura said, sticking her tongue out. "You miss me when I don't visit."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Derek snarked. "I'm gonna go grab my laptop and place the order."

Which he did. Laura ordered a turkey and roast beef sandwich with cheddar and tomatoes. Derek got something with salami, pastrami, pepperoni, and meatballs, adding provolone and of all things sprouts. Stiles wished he could leave the ordering completely up to Derek, but even more than he wanted to leave his owner in control, he knew that Derek wanted him to make his own choice.

"Just browse the menu," Derek said, plopping the computer in Stiles' lap. It stressed him out, having something so expensive given into his hands, but he was careful not to touch anything unnecessary, and he didn't have any liquids and was sitting far enough back that he was unlikely to drop it.

Eventually, Stiles settled on chicken salad because he'd made it before but never eaten it -- aside from the tiniest taste or two to make sure he'd gotten it right -- with havarti, lettuce, tomatoes, and avocados. It felt like too much, too decadent, but Derek gave him a pleased smile when he saw the order after taking his laptop back, and Stiles was just happy that he'd done right and had been able to make Derek's eyes crinkle at the corners like that.

"Here," Derek handed his laptop over to Laura. "If you want anything else, add it. Should we get a salad to split?"

Laura wrinkled her nose. "Yeah, probably," she allowed, making the change to their group order. "If we're gonna pretend to be responsible adults. I'm getting a liter bottle of soda, even though I know you don't drink it."

Derek shrugged. "You're paying. You should get some pickles, too. And maybe a dessert."

"I'll get us each a pickle," Laura said, tapping a couple of times, then hauling out her credit card. "But this place doesn't do desserts."

"Are you kidding?" Derek leaned over and pointed at the screen. "Their cookies are amazing! Get me and Stiles each an oatmeal chocolate chip one."

"Fine," Laura sighed, sounding put upon, but she did as asked and finished placing the order. "I got myself two cookies," she informed Derek snidely, handing his laptop back to him. "All for me. And I have no intention of sharing."

Derek snorted, closing and setting his laptop on the coffee table. "It's your money."

"Damn straight," Laura shot back.

While they waited for the delivery, Laura and Derek started playing a racing game. And though they got loud and verbally violent in their competitiveness, Stiles never felt as if he was in danger. That was an odd and liberating feeling for him, and he found he was actually enjoying watching the siblings play, even though he had no desire to do so himself. Well, not against them. Maybe if he was just playing by himself....

Their meal arrived just when Laura looked as though she was about to clock Derek over the head with her controller, and the three of them repaired to the kitchen, eating around the table.

Which was a good thing, because Stiles discovered that chicken salad could get a bit messy, especially with all the extras he'd gotten.

It was delicious, though, and he ate almost half of his sandwich before his stomach told him to stop. The sandwich he'd chosen was about half the size of Derek's and Laura's, and they finished theirs, but Stiles still felt proud of himself for managing as much as he had done. Especially now that he was fairly confident he wouldn't be yelled at for wasting food.

The pickles were huge and salty and garlicky, and maybe that was part of the reason he hadn't been able to eat more of his sandwich, but Stiles had no regrets. Derek took a little of the salad, but didn't insist Stiles have any, and Laura ate what was left once her sandwich was gone, even though she bitched at Derek for not keeping ranch dressing in his fridge.

Over all, Stiles considered the dinner a success, and he didn't even really feel guilty for not having had to cook... well, not very much. It was a lot less awkward and uncomfortable than the night before, and while Stiles still thought it was strange to be seated at the same table as his owner, Laura's cheerful and irreverent presence made it seem less wrong than it otherwise would have.

Once they were done eating and putting Stiles' leftovers away, Derek brewed some of Stiles' tea from Emissary Deaton, even though he should have told Stiles to do it himself. He also doled out Stiles' supplemental pills and instructed him to take them with some water once the meal was over. They tasted gross, but Stiles did as he was told, and was a little surprised to realize that he wasn't worried they were anything other than what he'd been told they were.

Then Derek poured him a shot glass of the stuff from the ceramic jar, and it smelled a dozen times worse than the pills had tasted, and Stiles practically gagged as he got it down.

Derek's nose was wrinkled as well, and he corked the jar as quickly as possible.

"This stuff better work," he declared, and when Stiles winced, he added, "I'm not upset with _you_ , Stiles; how could I be? I'm happy that Deaton thinks we can help you. I'm just saying that for how awful this smells, it'd better be worth it. Does it taste as bad as it smells?"

"Worse," Stiles croaked, going to the sink to rinse out the shot glass, adding a dollop of dish soap for good measure, because he knew that wolf noses would still be able to smell it otherwise.

Laura snickered. 

"Yeah, you can laugh," Derek groused, pouring Stiles some soda to wash the taste out of his mouth, because his tea wasn't ready yet. It sizzled and popped on Stiles tongue and he wasn't sure he liked it. It might be an acquired taste, like coffee had been, but if Laura was right and Derek didn't drink it then Stiles might never get the chance to acquire it. He didn't feel terribly disappointed by this thought.

"You're leaving again soon," Derek continued berating his sister, mostly teasing. "You won't have to deal with smelling that stuff morning and evening."

"You have my sympathy," she said with mock earnestness. Then she tilted her head. "The tea Deaton sent smells a lot nicer, though. I think it has mint in it. And maybe some anise."

"I think so," Derek said. "And ginger. This'll be better than that crap, Stiles," he assured him, as if Stiles couldn't smell it as it steeped. Well, Derek had enhanced senses, he'd never been a human, so he had no frame of reference as to what humans could and couldn't smell.

It felt new and unusual, being in a kitchen with a couple of wolves and feeling safer and more domestic than he had since before his mother had died... but Stiles thought that he liked it. Or, that he could grow to like it, once he got used to it.

After his tea was ready, Laura made some more of her own that she had brought with her, and Derek grabbed another water, then they returned to the living room to watch the sequel to the movie they'd watched earlier. This time Stiles was better able to focus, and he let himself get pulled into the story as it unfolded on the screen. Derek had a really big television, and so the action scenes were suitably impressive.

"This one is actually better than the first one," Derek told Stiles during a lull in the noise and music, and his eyes did that crinkling-at-the-corners thing even though he wasn't quite smiling. It reminded Stiles a little of his Dad, even though Derek looked nothing like the man, and he felt even more settled. The tea was soothing his throat and chasing the nasty taste of the medicine he'd swallowed earlier out of his mouth, and he had a giant plastic-wrapped cookie sitting on his knee, just waiting to be eaten.

"The first one has more raw intention, though," Laura put in, even though Derek hadn't been talking to her. Not that Stiles had felt like he had anything to add. Especially since he'd missed pretty much all the first movie. "This is more polished, but that detracts from the delivery of its message."

Derek snorted. "Things blow up. I'm not watching this to get a message. I just want to be entertained."

Laura groaned in disgust and the siblings started squabbling, quietly. Stiles turned his attention back to the screen, because he wanted to see how the movie went, and because he didn't think that they would mind if he didn't engage. His wasn't an informed opinion, anyway, and so anything he might have added would have been fairly inane.

Once his tea was gone, Stiles carefully unwrapped just a part of the edge of his cookie and nibbled on it. It was one of the most amazing things he'd ever put in his mouth, and he wished he had more room, so he could eat more of it. He'd had sugar and chocolate before, but only in small amounts and not since he'd been tiny. It was a novel experience, to realize that this entire cookie was for him, and he basked in it. If he wanted to, he could have more of it in the middle of the night... in the morning... after dinner tomorrow....

Eventually Derek and Laura quieted down and they finished watching the movie in peace. Stiles thought they looked cute, curled next to each other on the sofa, casually touching one another, but he felt safer on the loveseat alone, and he didn't think he was ready, yet, to join in the cuddles. 

Outside of Derek's bed, evidently.

That had been a deviation from Stiles' normal life experiences, and he felt like it should have felt more wrong than it did... but, then, Emissary Deaton had said to follow his instincts where that was concerned. Stiles was uncertain, but he couldn't deny that he _had_ slept, while being held in Derek's arms.

"All right, I guess I'd better head out," Laura said, standing and stretching once the movie's ending credits begin rolling. "It's been great, but I know I'm intruding during a delicate time."

Derek grumbled but didn't argue with her, and Stiles was torn. It had been nice having her here, but he knew that Derek would feel better once she was gone. And anything that made his owner more comfortable made Stiles feel more comfortable too.

They cleaned up the mugs and detritus, and Stiles put the rest of his cookie in the breadbox on the counter, because that seemed like the right place for it to be, after making sure it was carefully wrapped back up, of course.

He wasn't sure if he should follow them to the door. He hadn't when Derek had seen his mother off the night before, but it seemed different with Laura, and so he trailed behind Derek, ready to dart back into the living room if they chased him off. They didn't and Laura smiled at him as she grabbed her jacket off the coat rack, so it must be okay.

After dinner Laura had only eaten one of her cookies and she shoved the other in her jacket pocket now. Stiles wondered if it was for this Jordan of hers, or if she was just going to eat it later. Not that it was any of his business, either way.

Once she was ready to go, Laura turned to Stiles and gave him an intent look, her full lips curved up in a gentle smile and her eyes crinkling at the corners in the same way Derek's did.

"Stiles," she said, addressing him directly, "I'm going to ask you a question, and I swear to you it's okay if the answer is no, all right?"

Stiles blinked, feeling nerves coil in the base of his stomach, even though he had come to sort of trust Laura. She was a wolf, but she was also a good person. One who was fighting for human freedom, unless both she and Derek had completely bamboozled Stiles for reasons of their own. Stiles thought it was more likely that she was what she said she was. Laura was just _nice_.

And that was why he didn't completely freak out when she asked her question.

"Can I give you a hug goodbye?"

Stiles tensed, but not as much as Derek did. "Laura," he growled, his eyes flashing so quickly that Stiles almost missed seeing it. 

"Oh, knock it off, Derek," she instructed, sounding exasperated. "As if you're not practically doing the pee-pee dance so you can take and mark Stiles as soon as the door closes behind me. I think you can spare me one moment of hugging Stiles, if he'll let me."

"Laura!" Derek sounded physically pained, enough so that Stiles felt bad for him, even though his distress was surely mostly mental and emotional. "Shut up!"

"It's true and you know it," she shot back, then she turned her attention to Stiles, and she waited patiently for his answer, giving him the time he needed to mull it over.

Stiles glanced at Derek, and he still looked a little upset, but he waved a hand at Stiles. 

"It's okay," he said, and it almost sounded like he meant it. "None of us know when we're going to see each other again, so if you like Laura enough to hug her, now would be the time to do it. But like she said, it's okay if you don't, too."

"Hug me, that is," Laura added, winking at Stiles. "Because I already know you like me."

Stiles ducked his head, feeling shy all of a sudden, but he... kind of did want to hug Laura goodbye. Especially if it might be a while until they met again.

"Okay," he whispered, stepping forward, and he couldn't bring himself to reach out, but he did put his arms around her lightly when she tugged him in and gave him a careful but warm embrace.

"You're pretty awesome, Stiles," she told him, letting go before he became uncomfortable. "Take care of my brother, but let him take care of you too, okay? Because he needs both."

Derek gave vent to an aggravated sigh, but then Laura swooped in and hugged him far tighter and longer than she had hugged Stiles. "You're awesome too, Derek," she whispered. "Don't ever forget that." And Derek hugged her back, just as tightly.

"Get my email from Derek and contact me if you have any questions, or if you just wanna shit-talk about my brother," Laura told Stiles, and he was pretty sure she was joking about that last part.... Then she was gone, out the door, and the apartment suddenly seemed a lot quieter.

And then Derek proved the truth of Laura's earlier, teasing statements, as he grabbed Stiles and basically _dragged_ him into the bathroom.

Stiles' instincts and deeply ingrained sense of self preservation urged him to panic, but he was still swimming in the sensation of safety and home that Laura and Derek together had put him in, and by the time his heart began to race he was able to tell himself logically that Derek wasn't planning to do anything that would hurt him, and he was actually able to almost entirely believe this.

It was a fact, because even though Derek manhandled him a bit he didn't do anything that was in any danger of damaging Stiles. They got into the shower stall, but Stiles didn't manage to shed any of his clothes before Derek was whipping his dick out and showering him with a veritable flood of hot urine. Well, clothing washed. Derek had to overwrite his sister's scent, especially after she had hugged Stiles, and he'd probably been holding it for a long time, after drinking a lot of water, tea, and hot chocolate before, during, and after dinner. 

Stiles didn't find the wet clothes very nice as they clung to his body, and this time Derek got his hair as well as his torso -- though he managed to mostly avoid his face -- but once he was finished he carefully helped Stiles strip, got himself undressed as well, and then they both showered.

Stiles thought with mild amusement that he was growing more familiar with the inside of the shower stall than he was anywhere else in the apartment. But that was okay; he was grateful that Derek wasn't making him go to bed reeking of his piss. Stiles wouldn't have minded a lot... but he was still kind of glad.

Derek didn't bother with soap, really just mostly getting the two of them rinsed off, and then they were both wrapped in fluffy towels and Derek dumped Stiles' soiled clothing in the hamper.

"Can I get you a shirt of mine to wear to bed?" he asked, brows twisting anxiously up in the middle. "And maybe a pair of boxers?"

Honestly, Stiles was a little surprised that Derek wasn't ordering him to sleep in his bed with him tonight... and maybe a little disappointed? No, that couldn't be.

"Okay," he agreed, feeling ridiculously warm inside when this brought a pleased look to Derek's face. Since when did he want to make his owner happy just to make him happy, rather than as a matter of self preservation?

Well, Derek Hale was a complicated wolf. It was only natural that Stiles have complicated feelings toward him.

So he wore Derek's shirt and boxers and only felt a little bit strange about it. It had been late by the time Laura had left, and Derek declared that it was time for them to go to bed and sleep.

"Come here, just a second," he said roughly, pausing outside the door to the room that was Stiles' and his alone. 

Stiles stood still as Derek palmed the back of his head, fingers sinking into his wet hair, and pressed his lips against Stiles' temple. It wasn't a kiss, not really, just a scenting gesture, and it didn't make Stiles feel uncomfortable. That in itself disconcerted him a little, but he let it go.

"Let's be up around eight," Derek said, stepping back and letting go of Stiles. "There's no point in being off of work if I can't sleep in, right?"

Stiles nodded, even though he knew he probably wouldn't be doing much sleeping himself. Maybe the pendant Emissary Deaton had given him would work, but he kind of doubted it.

Stiles had taken the time to put his clothes away earlier, after their morning nap and before heading out for his appointment with Emissary Deaton, but he had his new tablet to mess around with, so he sat on the edge of his bed with it in hand.

It terrified him, opening the box and pulling the thin rectangle out. Someone -- most likely Emissary Deaton, since he'd programmed things into it -- had already broken the tape seal or else Stiles probably would have balked.... Partially because he had no nails to speak of, but also because he felt it was in some way symbolic.

He'd never before been entrusted with something this expensive that was meant to belong to him alone. Even though he believed Derek when he said that every Hale slave owned one -- the Hale pack was large and wealthy -- it still made something nervous twist in his belly.

But it was his, and it was pretty amazing. He couldn't get online, because he didn't have Derek's wireless password yet, but there were things to play with on it. He put the sandwich and pickle and cookie that he'd eaten in the meal spreadsheet, even though he had no real intention of sharing that with Emissary Deaton.

Then he discovered that his tablet had Solitaire built in.

That kept him occupied for what felt like minutes but was probably closer to an hour, and then eventually he plugged it in, letting it charge while he turned his attention to the other things in the bag.

He put the bottle of pills meant to quell his panic attacks in the top drawer of his dresser, where he'd placed the socks and underwear Alpha Hale had had sent. He didn't like the reminder that they might be necessary, so he wanted them out of sight but easy enough to get to.

The pendant he tucked under his pillow. He knew he ought to hang it around his neck, but he would have felt weird wearing that with Derek's shirt. It was sure to smell like Emissary Deaton, and he should be doing what he could to maintain the scent of his owner that Derek had worked so hard to get all over him.

Finally, he turned his attention to the sexual lubricant Emissary Deaton had sent him. He hadn't been embarrassed when he'd pulled it out of the bag, even though Laura had been amused, but he was a little embarrassed to think about that fact that he didn't really need it....

Well, he had stopped jerking off in large part because he had been constantly frightened for his life. And now, somehow, he could admit to himself that he felt safe here in Derek's apartment. It was a completely bizarre situation he had found himself in, but watching Derek and Laura interact tonight had... well, it had completely convinced him that he was going to be okay here. 

Now the only thing he had to do was to make sure that he didn't fuck up badly enough to get himself sold away from Derek's ownership. He needed to be good for Derek; not to avoid punishment, but to avoid losing this safe new home that he'd somehow found himself in.

Stiles pondered where to put the lube. Eventually he decided that since he didn't need it _now_ , he could put it in the drawer along with his pills. If at some point in his new, safe home he felt like he could get sexually aroused again, he'd be able to pull it out and put it closer to the bed. He'd never used actual lube before, back when he'd still been able to jerk off. He'd usually used saliva, because lotions and conditioner had scents that his wolf owners would be able to smell, and those were things that were off limit for mere slaves.

But, anyway. Stiles padded over and clicked the light off, then climbed into his bed and curled up under the covers. He'd put the comforter back on when he'd put his clothes away, and he now felt a little silly for spending the night in the corner, but at the time he hadn't known he was safe with Derek.

His comforter was nice, he thought as he tucked it close around his chin, and felt the sheets warm to his body heat, but it wasn't as nice as the eiderdown comforter on Derek's bed.

Well, Derek hadn't invited him to his bed. Maybe it was okay to share while they were napping, but not for an entire night. That was okay. Stiles felt safe now, but he was pretty sure it would be an awful idea to try to sleep with Derek. Considering the nightmares he suffered from, and the way he tended to wiggle around and kick and flail. He'd remained still during their two naps, held close in Derek's arms, but that had most likely been a matter of his being exhausted both times, Stiles thought.

After laying there slightly drowsy but unable to fall asleep for what felt like hours, Stiles sighed and pulled the pendant out after all, slinging it around his neck and then huddling under the covers again.

He did drift off a few times during the night, but he was up by six, despite Derek's plan that they sleep in, poking around on his tablet again.

A knock startled him, but he felt something in his chest unwind, as though he'd almost been expecting it. He hoped he hadn't woken Derek; he'd tried super hard to be quiet as he moved around.

He opened the door and Derek looked tired but hopeful, and he smiled at Stiles as if he was happy to see him.

"Do you want to watch me start the coffee so you know how to use the machine?" he offered, scratching at his messy hair and looking way too adorable for a big bad wolf, in his tank and pajama bottoms, with his huge muscles and the dark fuzz on his chest and forearms.

Stiles nodded, charmed despite himself, and followed Derek into the kitchen, barefoot and shivering a little, but unwilling to don clothing that didn't smell like Derek.

He felt like his skin still smelled salty and a little bitter from when Derek had pissed on him the night before, even though that was probably his imagination. Well, _Derek_ could undoubtedly smell it on him, but Stiles figured he probably couldn't with his human senses. He thought that he liked it, though.

The coffeemaker was simple enough and Stiles was pretty sure he could have made them a pot without any direction, but he still hung back and watched closely as Derek walked him through the steps. 

"How did you sleep?" Derek asked hesitantly, once the coffee was brewing.

Stiles shrugged, not wanting to say that he couldn't sleep, but Derek nodded as though he'd replied and grimaced.

"Me either," he confessed, then yawned. "How about a nap a little later?"

And that was what they did, after they'd had coffee and breakfast and Stiles had downed more of that disgusting medicine from Emissary Deaton and then drunk some tea.

Once they were curled together on Derek's comfy bed, Stiles felt his lids grow heavy, and before he knew it he was sound asleep. Maybe this wasn't as strange as it seemed, but he still felt that it was pretty weird.

During the next three days, though, their lives continued in this weirdness, falling into an odd sort of pattern. 

They each spent largely sleepless nights, each in his own bedroom. They emerged, had some coffee, Derek worked out and Stiles worked out lightly -- because Emissary Deaton had emailed both of them that it would be a good idea, and because Stiles was used to being _far_ more active than he had been recently -- then Derek marked Stiles and they showered together. Stiles made breakfast, often with Derek's help, and then once it was eaten they went together into Derek's room and took a long nap, curled up in his bed.

Stiles wasn't sure doing so was a good idea, but Dr. Deaton had told him to do what his instincts told him felt right... and it was _nice_ to actually get some sleep for a change. Since they weren't sleeping at night, it was good to get some sleep _at all_.

Things were going so smoothly that Stiles had almost lost his fear that he was going to somehow screw up. So, naturally, that was when he screwed up.

Despite Derek's assurance that at some point he would take Stiles out to choose his own clothing, Stiles had zero desire to leave the apartment. Derek complained that Stiles' bedroom was bare, but Stiles couldn't have bought anything for himself even if Derek had put money in his hand and _ordered_ him to spend it on no one else.

But Derek couldn't remain in the apartment like a hermit, even though he was getting the majority of his groceries delivered and his alpha was making sure that all of their basic needs were being taken care of.

On the fourth full day that Stiles had been there, Derek needed to go in to the office, because even though he had more than a week off yet some stuff had come up that his uncle said he was essential for.

Derek grumbled on his way out the door that Peter was full of shit, but he went. And then, for the first time, Stiles was alone in the apartment.

The first thing he did was look for cleaning supplies. He found some in the hall closet, though nothing like what he was used to. Well, Derek had been living alone, so maybe he didn't keep all the solutions and tools necessary for a real, deep cleaning.

Stiles had good intentions, he really did. But he'd actually sort of forgotten that he was also super clumsy. And the sides of the sunken bathtub were awfully slippery when they were coated in bleach.

Stiles went down _hard_ , banging his head and biting his lip deeply enough to bleed, but he barely noticed because his hip, his ribs, and his upper arm all hit the stairs at various levels with enough force to almost have him in tears. He knew he would bruise, he was going to ache for days, and he just curled up for a while, trying not to cry, as much with frustration over his own stupidity and carelessness as from the pain.

Once he could move again cleaning was no longer an option, even though he'd only just started. He rinsed the bathtub as best he could, changed out of his bleach-stinking clothes, took a hot shower as much to loosen his muscles as to hopefully remove any scent of bleach that might have made it to his skin, and then dressed in a fluffy sweater that Derek had told him he could wear whenever he wanted, a pair of sweatpants, and some fuzzy socks. Then he curled up on the sofa where Derek usually sat, breathing in the scent that clung to the cushions, taking comfort in it even though Derek wasn't here.

He made sure to be up and moving by the time Derek got home, though, putting lunch together for them in the kitchen. He tried so hard to move naturally, as Derek entered -- complaining about Peter some more and how he hadn't really needed to be there -- tried so hard not to let on how gimpy he felt, but he should have known Derek would figure it out. Hell, he probably smelled the pain on Stiles the moment he stopped talking.

"Stiles, come here." Derek directed, from where he had seated himself on one of the chairs by the table, facing toward the rest of the kitchen and Stiles. 

Stiles obeyed, because what else was he going to do? Derek lowered him onto the chair next to his, turned so that it was facing him, their knees bumping, then wrapped a large hand around Stiles' wrist. 

For a confused moment Stiles thought Derek was just marking him with his scent after having been gone for hours, but in another moment dark veins were twisting up Derek's forearm, under his skin, and Stiles tried to yank his arm back, shocked and appalled. Derek didn't let go, holding on carefully but tightly enough that the weaker human couldn't escape. 

"What's that?" Stiles blurted, even though he'd always tried not to question anything any of his owners had ever done. He was pretty sure by now that Derek wasn't going to punish him for speaking out of turn, but habits developed in pursuit of survival died hard.

Derek frowned. "You're hurt," wasn't a reply to Stiles' question, but it was what he said, "How did you hurt yourself?"

"What are you _doing_?" Stiles repeated, twisting and pulling at his wrist, and after a moment Derek let go. He frowned, but he didn't... look angry at Stiles?

"I was taking your pain, draining it," Derek finally explained, matter-of-factly. He even gave a little shrug.

Stiles was aware that his mouth was hanging open, but he couldn't close his jaw. That was... he'd never known a wolf could _do_ something like that! That was weird and kind of awesome. But....

"You shouldn't take any of my pain," he told Derek as firmly as he was able. After all, it had been his own clumsiness that had resulted in his bruises. Derek was in no way responsible, and he was Stiles' _owner_.

That was surely why Stiles hadn't even known this was an ability that wolves had; none of his previous owners would have even _thought_ to take a slave's pain. They were more likely to be the ones _causing_ the pain.

"So what happened?" Derek asked, his brows rising and crinkling in the middle in a way that Stiles hated to acknowledge as adorable, clearly worried. 

"I was trying to clean," Stiles confessed, because keeping things from Derek could only end badly, "And I slipped. I'm sorry."

"Cleaning?" Derek questioned, reaching out again and taking Stiles' wrist. Stiles watched in fascination as the black veins tracked up Derek's arm again, and he felt bad, but he also felt amazingly better as the pain left his body. It was a little floaty, but so much better than how he had felt before.

"What were you cleaning?" Derek asked, and Stiles was so captivated that he almost missed hearing him. "Did something happen? Was there a spill or something?"

"No, I was just." He waved his free hand vaguely, feeling as though his tongue was being loosened up by what Derek was doing, making it easier for him to communicate when normally he would have been as close-lipped as possible. "You know, cleaning. Things. I need to... that should be one of my chores, right?"

Derek was shaking his head by the time Stiles was done talking, and he had stopped draining his pain but he didn't let go of Stiles' wrist. 

"Stiles, no, you don't need to do that. I have a cleaning service that comes in every other week; I don't need them more often than that because it doesn't get very messy here. Those supplies that you found are for spot cleaning, for emergencies."

"Oh...." Stiles supposed he shouldn't be surprised by this, but he wondered what he was supposed to do with himself once Derek went back to work, if he wasn't meant to keep the place clean.

Derek's thumb was smoothing back and forth over Stiles' pulse point and for some reason it felt soothing and he didn't want to pull his hand away. It felt good to be held onto so gently. It had been so long since he'd been touched in a way that wasn't meant to cause pain. Hell, Derek had actually _taken away_ Stiles' pain rather than causing him more.

"What about laundry?" he asked, because if Derek had someone clean his apartment, then maybe Stiles wasn't meant to do that either,

"I send the laundry out once a month," Derek replied, not unexpectedly. "That's why I have so many clothes, towels, and bedsheets. You don't need to do _any_ washing."

Stiles glanced over at the dishwasher he'd realized Derek owned at some point during his third day here, when he wasn't so panicked about everything.

"You can keep doing dishes by hand if you want," Derek said, reading his thoughts easily enough. "But I'd be just as happy if you rinsed things and put them in there. Whatever you want, okay?"

Stiles nodded, wondering if at some point in the future he could talk Derek into doing away with the cleaning service. Maybe once he healed and wasn't sporting the bruises from his disastrous attempts at cleaning today. He had to try, because he was going to need something to _do_. 

He'd let the laundry service stand, though. He really wasn't very good with washing machines and dryers. He'd be just as happy to let someone else do that.

Happy. Stiles realized with an internal start that he _was_ happy here. Something he'd never thought he'd feel again after being sold away from his father. He was happy and it was pretty much entirely due to Derek, _because_ of Derek.

And for the first time ever, Stiles smiled at Derek and he meant it.

***

Stiles smiled at Derek and it took Derek's breath away. This was the first time he had seen Stiles smile, and it was a _real_ smile. 

Something inside Derek broke wide open, but that was a good thing because it was something that had felt blocked ever since what Kate had done to him. He found he was smiling back without any reservations, just so pleased that Stiles was happy enough to smile.

He did still feel bad, though, that Stiles had hurt himself. Now that he was looking for it, Derek could see the bruising at Stiles' hairline, the pale skin already purpling over a slight swelling, and he felt the overwhelming need to find out what other damage there was.

"Do you need to go to see Deaton?" he asked. Draining another being's pain wasn't an exact science, but he thought that Stiles had been experiencing more pain than if he'd just bumped his knee or something. Well, completely aside from the bruise on his _head_ \-- and Derek still wondered how he'd managed that, even though Deaton had warned him that Stiles' ADHD in combination with his teenage body still growing would probably make him clumsy -- and the scent of pain wafting off of him, Derek had seen that he'd been moving stiffly while making their lunch. 

Stiles shook his head. "No," he replied, and Derek listened for the lie, but there was none in his voice as he continued, "Nothing's broken, just banged up."

Derek grimaced, upset over the implication that Stiles would know if he had broken bones due to previous experiences. "Stand up," he urged, rising off his chair as well.

Stiles stood easily enough, since Derek had relieved him of most of the pain he'd been feeling, and he didn't resist when Derek stripped off the sweater he was wearing.

He did flinch when Derek hissed, seeing the deep bruising on his ribcage and his left arm. That was going to hurt for a while, Derek knew. He hated that humans took so long to heal, but it was just part of being human and he couldn't change that. Even if Stiles had wanted to become a werewolf -- something that Derek doubted -- Derek's mother wouldn't be able to give him the bite; not without a very good reason.

As much as it was frowned upon for alphas to bite humans, and no matter that the resulting bitten werewolves were usually socially shunned even if they'd been given no choice in the matter, sometimes it was allowed. If, say, a beloved slave was in such ill health that they were in danger of death and all the right papers were signed, with at least two doctors attesting that the bite was the only chance the human had for survival.

But such things were rare, not least of all because very few valued their human slaves enough to make the effort, and Derek didn't think Stiles wanted to be anything other than human, slow healing and all.

"You're sure it's not broken?" he asked, palming Stiles' ribs, then carefully testing his arm. Since he'd drained Stiles' pain he was able to do so, but he knew that those spots were going to be sore for days. Well, he'd just have to keep draining Stiles' pain, then.

"I'm sure," Stiles rasped confidently, and Derek was no expert but he hadn't felt anything move or give under his hands, so he reluctantly concluded that Stiles was probably right.

"All right," Derek sighed, reaching for the sweater, pleased to note that it was one of his. Then he paused. "What about...." He waved a hand toward the waistband of Stiles' pajama bottoms.

Stiles' wide mouth curved down, but he obediently tugged down the elastic on his left side, exposing a sharp hipbone and the bruising there as well. 

He'd begun putting weight back on, Derek thought distractedly, feeling the hot flesh, knowing that it was less likely that Stiles had broken his hip than cracked a rib and, anyway, Derek wouldn't be able to tell by touching it, but somehow just feeling better for being able to cover up the damage with his hand for a moment. It was also nice to feel that Stiles was growing more sturdy, to know that sticking to the meal plan Deaton had sent and being in a safe, caring environment were doing Stiles so much good.

Stiles still had a ways to go, Derek thought, but he was already looking like a completely different person than the angry, terrified slave that Derek had brought home. He was well on his way to being healthy, he was contented, and he was pretty enough to distract Derek at random times during the day.

That last was a relatively new development, and Derek was doing his best to ignore it for now. Stiles was in his care. The very last thing the boy needed was to be taken advantage of in any way. Not that Derek noticing how red and lush his lips were translated to his _doing_ anything about it, but it skirted dangerously close to a line that Derek had very definitively drawn for himself.

Speaking of Stiles' lips, Derek could see a scab where he had bitten it, and he sighed. The poor kid had only been trying to help, attempting to keep himself busy. He'd have to think of ways Stiles could do so that wouldn't result in personal injury. Maybe he'd turn the online grocery shopping over to him. That was only one small chore, though. He should really talk to his mother about this. Maybe he'd call her later.

"Can I...?"

"Oh, right." Derek pulled his hand back and after Stiles had restored his pants to where they were supposed to be, he carefully tugged the sweater back on over the boy's head, the same as he'd taken it off. "Sorry."

Stiles gave him a look that was _almost_ a smile and Derek's heart pounded once, hard and painful in his chest. "Don't say sorry," he said huskily, because Deaton's medication didn't seem to be working yet, but Derek held out hope since it had only been a few days. "There's nothing to be sorry for when you made the pain go away."

Derek smiled and leaned in to press his lips to Stiles' temple, on the side that wasn't bruised, then asked, "I know you feel better now that I took the pain, but can I help you make lunch?"

Just a couple of days ago Stiles would have either panicked at the mere suggestion or judged Derek for feeling as though he had to ask, Derek thought, but they were making progress, because all Stiles did was nod. Then, in a move that stunned Derek, though he tried not to show it because he didn't want to spook the boy, Stiles reached up and pressed the palm of his right hand against the side of Derek's neck. Offering him comfort through his scent in a way that usually only werewolves were aware of.

Well, Stiles had been accepting these sorts of touches from Derek with good grace for the last three days. And he was clearly bright and picked things up quickly. It was hardly surprising that he'd known to make that move.

Even though it _had_ surprised Derek, at least a little. Largely due to the boldness of it. That was more good than bad and it gave Derek even more reason to hope that Stiles trusted him and didn't fear him any longer.

Another werewolf would have found the move to be threatening and they would never have stood for it from a human slave. But Derek had been born a beta, he was in the middle of a large family, and most importantly, he didn't feel that he was in any way superior to Stiles. They were both survivors, though of different horrors. He knew that Stiles was smart, possibly smarter than him, and he didn't hold that werewolves were for some reason just "better" due to their enhanced abilities.

Hell, if not for an accident of his birth, Derek could just as easily been born human. And Stiles could have been born a werewolf. As far as Derek was concerned, life was a lottery; as though the universe had put some dice in a cup and shaken it up. He considered that he was _lucky_ he was a werewolf and not a human slave, but this was nothing that he ascribed as a personal accomplishment, and it wasn't anything that he took for granted.

Additionally, there was the fact that he _wanted_ Stiles to mark him the way he marked Stiles. He wanted to smell of the boy the same way Stiles smelled of Derek. And hands touching body parts wasn't as powerful an act as urinating on someone, but it was definitely better than just sharing space and mingling their scents that way.

Derek did his best not to show _any_ of this in his face, not the surprise and not even his pleasure, because that might put Stiles off. He just gave the boy a small smile, and then they got to work on lunch.

Once they were done both cooking and eating, when Derek could smell that Stiles was staring to grow uncomfortable again, he drained his pain and they left the dishes in the sink so that they could both go and curl up on his bed and get some sleep, since Derek had been gone most of the morning,

Their stomachs full, Stiles smelling of Derek, Derek smelling of Stiles, and Stiles' pain drained to the point that he was clearly a little fuzzy around the edges, they both should have been able to sleep with no problem. And Stiles did drift off right away. 

Derek, however, had more of a problem.

Leaving the apartment and going in to the office had set him on edge and he had yet to recover from that. He'd had to deal with _people_ , and he'd been reminded of how much he hated leaving this little cocoon he and Stiles had going on. Also, Peter was making noises about visiting, and while Derek was grateful that his uncle wasn't just showing up on his doorstep without warning, he didn't really want Peter here.

Peter had been present when Derek had gotten Stiles. He'd seen Stiles at his worst. He was interested in seeing Stiles now that he was on the mend. But Derek didn't feel like sharing. He also didn't want Stiles to be reminded of how his life had been less than a week ago. And to be honest, he just didn't like it when Peter visited. Peter always looked like he was judging Derek, even though he'd been the one to help choose the apartment and he'd picked out most of its furnishings.

Well, if even Derek's mother and Deaton hadn't asked to come over, Derek felt he could put Peter off for a while longer. He still had ten days of vacation left, and everyone knew that he'd need at least a few more days to fully incorporate Stiles into his life....

Although, Derek mused, nuzzling the soft skin behind one of Stiles' ears, letting himself pet the soft sweater over the boy's slowly beating heart, he already couldn't imagine his life without Stiles in it. He was pretty sure that he didn't actually need more bonding time with Stiles; they were already bonded. 

But he wasn't about to share that with Peter.

His mother already knew or guessed, Derek thought, shifting just a little closer where he was already quite effectively spooning Stiles' lanky body. And Laura had been able to tell. But that just wasn't information that Peter needed to be in possession of.

Derek loved his uncle, deeply. He did. Peter had saved him from Kate, and he was sure that Peter cared about him a great deal. But he didn't make the mistake of _trusting_ his uncle. Peter loved his family, Derek knew, but he was selfish and self-involved, and he clashed with his older sister and alpha as often as he supported her. 

Family meant you could love someone without always liking them a lot, Derek mused with a wry twist to his lips. Sometimes Peter was awesome and understanding, but other times he was obnoxious and overbearing, and it was kind of exhausting dealing with him on a regular basis, the way Derek did during a normal work week.

Peter wasn't here now, though, so Derek shouldn't let thoughts of his uncle bother him. And normally he didn't mind going in to work at all, but right now he'd so much rather be here in his apartment with Stiles.

Which was where he was. Derek sighed, because he was warm and comfortable with Stiles tucked into the curve of his body, their scents mingled on Stiles' skin and Derek's skin as well, and Stiles wasn't afraid of him anymore. Derek ought to be feeling completely contented. Except for the part where Stiles had fallen and hurt himself, things really couldn't be going better.

Especially not taking into consideration how far Stiles had come in just a few days. When Derek had first set eyes on him he'd been dirty, battered, full of rage and terror, nearly feral, and convinced that Derek was going to do horrible things to him, the way all his previous owners had done.

Today Stiles had _smiled_ at Derek. Something Derek hadn't been expecting and definitely wouldn't have thought he'd seen so soon. 

He wasn't sure what had caused it, but he sure as hell knew he'd do his best to see it again.

Derek nosed his way into the curve of Stiles' neck, breathing in deeply and trying to calm his thoughts. He could smell the way their scent mingled perfectly. There was still the faint tang of Derek's urine on Stiles' skin, even though he'd showered at some point while Derek had been gone. That really was just supposed to be a thing for new slaves, Derek thought sheepishly. Well, technically Stiles was still new....

And a werewolf probably wasn't supposed to want their human slave to mark them in return, in the same way. But once the idea had sprung up in Derek's head, basically fully formed, he hadn't really been able to banish it. Every day when he took the time to piss on Stiles, he wanted to suggest that Stiles stand and do the same to him in turn.

The thing that stopped him wasn't the fear that Stiles would lose respect for him. Derek didn't care about that. It wasn't the possible reversal of their power dynamic, because Derek didn't want to have any power over Stiles. 

What stopped him from offering, from _asking_ was that he knew that those things still mattered to _Stiles_ and that he'd get freaked out if Derek so much as mentioned it as a possibility.

But Derek wanted. He wanted in a way that he belatedly realized was giving him a hard-on, which was pressing against the taut curve of Stiles' ass where it was nestled back into Derek's lap.

And, wow, that was kind of new. Derek flushed, but didn't pull his face away from Stiles' shoulder. He stayed there, riding out the light wave of arousal that washed through him unexpectedly, trying to figure out what had caused it....

Well, it wasn't as though he hadn't noticed his attraction toward Stiles. He'd been ignoring it, but it had been present. As Stiles had begun to fill out and look more like a young man than a gaunt scarecrow, as he'd exercised lightly but with dedication, as Derek had come to recognize him as a fully realized person in his own rights rather than as a damaged child, there had been a certain amount of appreciation that had snuck in.

Derek huffed, and Stiles squirmed, not waking but wriggling as the breath gusted against his bare skin. Derek's cock throbbed, and he ignored it because nothing was going to happen.

Even if Kate had never done what she had done, Derek didn't think he could ever have made any overtures toward Stiles. He was just.... Even though Stiles was coming to be more comfortable here and feel safer, he was just so conscious of his position as a personal slave, and if Derek had tried to molest him in any way, he was sure that Stiles would just accept it, would assume that he had to do whatever Derek desired. And that thought made Derek feel sick.

Leaving the bed and jerking off wasn't anything Derek wanted to do; not to mention it would have felt wrong and kind of perverted to go from snuggling with Stiles to masturbating. So even though it kind of felt like torturing himself, Derek just cuddled closer and kept inhaling their mingled scents, letting his cock be hard if it wanted, because there wasn't really anything he could do about it.

Normally ignoring a problem until it went away didn't really work for Derek, but this time proved to be the exception, thankfully. He drifted off and dozed, then finally fell soundly asleep. 

And when they both woke, hours later, Derek was no longer sporting wood, thankfully.

It wasn't that Derek wanted Stiles to hurt -- the opposite of that -- but the fact that he had slipped and bruised himself so badly finally bridged that gap that had remained between them. 

Derek relieved Stiles of his pain several times during the day and then when it came time for them to retire for the night he felt confident enough to suggest that Stiles join him in his bed, so that he could continue to periodically take Stiles' pain and allow him to sleep without discomfort and not wake in agony and stiffness. 

He hadn't before suggested they both sleep in his bed -- even though he'd wanted to every night since Stiles had come home with him, even though he knew that they were both tossing and turning and remaining largely wakeful for the entire night -- because he felt that Stiles deserved his alone time, and the hours when they were both shut in their rooms provided the boy with that.

So when he put forward the offer, Derek made absolutely sure that Stiles knew he could turn him down... but he said yes. And, okay, Derek was still a little concerned that Stiles was taking it as an order, but if it spared him pain then it was for the good... right?

After all, Derek recognized that just because he wanted something that didn't mean Stiles would want it too. And he also recognized that Stiles would still agree to it even if he didn't want it.

But Stiles said yes with an quickness that put most of Derek's worries to rest, and he almost felt as though Stiles had just been waiting for him to ask... or at least that he had no qualms about bed-sharing now that Derek _had_ asked.

So now they both slept through the nights, huddled close the way they had used to do while napping, and that freed up their days since they no longer needed the long naps to recover from nightly sleeplessness. 

Derek set about rectifying an oversight that he hadn't even been aware of until now, and he and Stiles sat down to decide what Stiles' chores would be in the apartment.

"You'll definitely start doing more of the cooking once I head back to work," Derek said, trying not to let the happiness that he was feeling over the fact that Stiles had joined him on the sofa instead of sitting on the loveseat show too brightly in his face, but aware he was probably doing a bad job of hiding it. "But I actually enjoy cooking, so if I say it's my night to make dinner, you gotta let me."

Stiles nodded, his expression earnest and focused. He was clutching his tablet with both hands, ready to enter any pertinent information, and Derek wanted to squeeze him, he was so cute. But he couldn't, so he settled for palming the side of his neck. That was okay, because Stiles had done that to Derek, and because Stiles no longer took it as an attack or the precursor to an attack.

He didn't even flinch when Derek moved near him now, and Derek thought that after only a week or so of good experiences to overwrite sixteen years of bad experiences that this was damned near miraculous. His mother had probably been right about he and Stiles sharing some kind of bond. Stiles now instinctively realized that Derek would never hurt him and he behaved accordingly.

That could only be a good thing as far as Derek was concerned.

"You can do the online grocery shopping for now," Derek continued. "I'll set you up with my laptop password and show you how to use the account I have with the store, if you don't figure it out for yourself before I get a chance to. Once we start actually going out shopping -- because I'm not letting someone else choose my produce for me forever -- we'll probably go together. But if I'm busy and there isn't too much to carry, then I might send you on your own. If you're comfortable with that," he hastened to add.

Stiles nodded again, but he looked less certain this time.

"Can you drive?" Derek asked on a whim, and he wasn't surprised when Stiles shook his head this time. There were plenty of humans who could drive, but Stiles was only sixteen and it didn't seem likely that any of his previous owners would have sent him off on any out of home errands for them.

Derek really didn't like to think about the werewolves who had owned Stiles before him. They must have been awful, considering that state Stiles had been in when he'd come into Derek's life. Derek wished that he could have been the first owner Stiles had ever had....

But it was a waste of time wishing for impossible things. While he was at it, Derek might as well wish that Kate had never become fixated on him, or that she hadn't succeeded when she'd kidnapped him.

The bad things that had happened to both Derek and Stiles had played a part in making them who the were now. Derek was still unhappy about both Stiles' suffering and his own suffering, but there was no undoing it.

"Maybe we'll get you some lessons at some point," Derek said, but that was a low priority, since there was a very nice market within easy walking distance from the apartment, which he would have very few qualms about sending Stiles to. 

Well, maybe not for a while yet. Not because Derek didn't trust Stiles to come back to him, but because he didn't trust the world out there with his precious Stiles.

"I'd like to take over cleaning duties," Stiles spoke up unexpectedly, eyes wide and bright, fixed on Derek's face, his face adorably serious and focused. 

Derek's initial urge was to say no, because he could still see the bruising on Stiles' body from his fall, when he was naked while Derek marked him every morning. But the boy's expression caused him to pause and he gave it a moment of consideration.

"I'm good at cleaning," Stiles continued earnestly, fingers white around his tablet. "Really. Yeah, I sometimes slip, but not usually as bad as this time. I won't use bleach in the tub anymore. And I'll be careful, I promise. But I need something to do, and now that there's two of us here, maybe every other week isn't often enough."

Derek barely restrained a snort, because he didn't think he'd ever known a living being who made _less_ of a mess than Stiles. Well, sometimes the kitchen got kind of chaotic when he was cooking, but he always cleaned it right back up immediately.

That alone was proof that Stiles was as good at cleaning as he said he was, Derek mused. And he had a need; that need was to keep busy, to feel productive, and to find his place in the household. If canceling the cleaning service and letting Stiles take over the duties accomplished that, then Derek should be willing to do it.

After all, if it didn't work out he could always reinstate the service... but somehow Derek didn't think Stiles would fail him in this.

The way Stiles' face lit up when Derek informed him of this plan -- leaving off that last bit, to avoid hurting his feelings -- made it all worthwhile. Even though Derek thought it was a little sad that Stiles _wanted_ to clean. After all, Derek himself had disliked it so much he'd been paying someone else to do it even though that meant letting someone who wasn't family into his apartment on a bi-monthly basis.

A lot of werewolves would tell him that this was what a personal slave was for. But then, Derek thought distastefully, a lot of werewolves would tell him there was nothing wrong with keeping humans as slaves and _making_ them do things like cleaning and cooking and performing far more unpleasant chores.

Derek wondered if Stiles actually _liked_ cleaning, or if he just appreciated the sense of accomplishment and the ability to prove his worth to Derek... but in the end, where was the difference? Derek didn't really like his job for Peter -- though he didn't hate it -- but he used the money he earned there to pay the bills. Stiles probably felt the same way about cleaning, and Derek shouldn't waste his time over-thinking it.

Stiles obviously felt better once they'd made up a list of his duties. He didn't offer to take over the laundry, and that was fine. Derek had a small washer and dryer tucked in the hall closet, but that was just for use when he absolutely needed something immediately that was dirty.

Derek handed over the grocery shopping to Stiles, and gave his permission freely when the boy asked anxiously if he could order more cleaning supplies.

"Stiles," he said, placing a hand on one bony knee, trying to make Stiles believe him by sheer force of his will. "You can order or buy _anything_ you need. I'm doing well and the Hale pack is very wealthy. If you need household supplies of any sort, get them. You want to buy a steam cleaner? Do it. If you need a special ingredient to make dinner at any point, get them. We should go out and get you more clothes, I know, but it's just easier to stay here at home."

He added that last sheepishly, but Stiles seemed to understand, because his mouth was quirked up at one corner and he was nodding. 

"Can I.... _Can_ I get a steam cleaner?" he asked hesitantly. "I'm sure the cleaning service had one that they brought with them, and these hardwood floors are going to need it, at least once a month."

Derek laughed, delighted. "Absolutely. In fact, do you want to break out of our rut and go looking at them in person? I don't think the grocer delivers those."

"Right now?" Stiles asked, mouth rounding in surprise.

Derek nodded, trying to quell how much he wanted to lick the plump curves of Stiles' ruby lips. Now was not the time. There was never going to be a time for that.

Stiles looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded decisively. "Yeah, okay." And he seemed to mean it, which Derek thought was an incredible amount of progress.

So that was how they found themselves wearing actual street clothing and leaving the apartment together for the first time since they'd been to visit Deaton the second day after Derek had come home with his new personal slave.

Derek kept a close eye on Stiles but the boy seemed to be doing fine. He'd put on the wristband that Derek's mother had given him, and Derek wished he'd seen that before they'd left the apartment because then he'd have put on the matching band. Well, next time.

Somehow shopping for a steam cleaner -- which Stiles shyly picked and Derek ordered to be sent to their home the following day -- segued into doing the long-promised clothing shopping, and once that was done Derek dragged Stiles into an electronics store, telling him to choose ten movies; anything he thought looked interesting, it didn't matter if they turned out good or bad.

Stiles was deeply hesitant, but he eventually started picking up the cases and reading the backs. Derek hovered, as much to let Stiles know if he was looking at something already in his collection at home as to keep any potential problems away. Well, okay, it was honestly mostly the latter.

Not that anyone was really looking at them twice. Together they weren't anything unusual, except that most werewolves weren't as solicitous of their slaves. But the way Stiles was practically drenched in Derek's scent -- he'd marked him before they'd left the house, he was wearing one of Derek's unlaundered shirts, and Derek kept a palm on the nape of his neck any time they weren't moving -- would indicate that he was still new and so people would figure that was the reason for Derek remaining so close to him.

With virtually no prompting from Derek, Stiles picked out a wide array of different films; action, comedy, cheap creature features that were bound to be amusingly awful, horror, buddy cop, and even one period drama that looked like it would be dry as dust. But it was what Stiles wanted, and Derek felt a swelling of pride as he paid for the selection.

Granted, he'd had to do most of the choosing when they'd picked out clothes, but he couldn't expect Stiles to be able change a mindset driven into him through years of hard, painful training within one short week. He was still amazing that Stiles was doing as well as he was.

After that, though, they were both mentally and emotionally drained and beat a quick retreat back to the apartment, where they made food, ate, and then curled up on Derek's bed, even though they'd both been regularly sleeping through the night.

"Are you even wearing the pendant Deaton gave you?" Derek asked lazily, his hand spread over Stiles' flat stomach through the shirt he was wearing, his nose pressed against the boy's slowly lengthening hairline. "Did you ever?"

Stiles shifted a little, maybe an aborted shrug, then answered. "Not really. I'm sure it works but I just.... I don't need it now."

He didn't need it _now_. That left out the period of time before Stiles had begun sleeping in Derek's bed at night... but whatever. Derek had just been curious, and he was glad that Stiles didn't need to be wearing something that smelled of Deaton while they were in his bed.

"I used to move a lot," Stiles continued, his voice low and a little dreamy. He was still healing from his fall, and so he might be a bit foggy from Derek draining his pain while they were shopping and then when they had laid down just now. "In my sleep. I'd kick and twitch...."

"You generally lay still all night," Derek offered, pressing his lips to the side of Stiles' neck, his mouth open, marking his supple skin with his breath. "You've never kicked me."

"You hold me together," Stiles said, leaning backward to press his torso into Derek's. He was less bony, which Derek appreciated, but he might appreciate it too much, because the sensation of Stiles' body pushing close combined with his words made the danger of Derek popping a boner very real.

"I'm glad," Derek murmured, cursing himself for his husky tone, trying to angle his crotch away from Stiles without losing contact with him anywhere else. "I'm glad my bed is a safe place for you."

"It's not your bed. It's your arms."

And, yeah, there is was, instant hard-on. Derek bit back a groan, pressing his face into Stiles' shoulder through the material of the shirt he had on, raising his legs so that his chest and his upper thighs were still cradling Stiles but his stupid cock was taken out of the game.

Not that he didn't wish he could grind it into Stiles' ass, hump against him until he came. But that would be rude, disastrous, and Derek was pretty sure it would lose him every inch of ground he had gained so far in winning Stiles' trust.

It was partially Stiles' trust that was _giving_ Derek his erection; that combined with the warmth, solidness, and scent of the boy in his arms. Stiles was beautiful and he was in Derek's arm, in his bed. _Their_ bed now. It might almost be stranger if Derek _hadn't_ gotten hard. 

But acting on it was unacceptable, and so Derek just held still, hoping that Stiles wouldn't notice the way he'd shifted to spoon him, and hoping even more that his hard-on would go away.

Stiles yawned and _wiggled back_ into the curve of Derek's body, and hell. He was in hell. But even so, there was no other place he'd rather be. 

Derek already couldn't remember what his apartment had been like without Stiles in it, filling it with his presence and his scent, and he couldn't recall what his bed had been like before Stiles had joined him in it. 

Both must have been empty and kind of depressing, Derek thought, nosing at his shirt that Stiles had on, over the curve of his shoulder.

He'd resisted getting a personal slave for so long. Maybe he'd just been waiting to meet Stiles. Okay, granted, the more logical side of him knew that he'd held off because of his issues after Kate and because he still felt that all slavery was morally wrong. But the deep instinctive part of him that was rolling around happily in the mere presence of Stiles was telling him that he'd been _meant_ to find Stiles, that Stiles had been _meant_ to come into his life and give it color and warmth.

Not even his family members had been able to make Derek feel the way Stiles made him feel. As much as he loved them -- and he did, so much -- they hadn't been able to warm him all the way through. Stiles was able to do that just by existing.

All of this sappy thinking had effectively diminished Derek's hard-on, thank fuck, and so he allowed himself to relax, though he maintained their current position just in case it recurred. They lay together, both radiating happiness and peace, and neither of them slept, but they didn't need to. It was enough to just _be_ for a while. 

With each other. That was the way they were meant to be; Derek was certain of it.

Even though Derek hadn't communicated with his mother _or_ Deaton about their trip out, it seemed to be the trigger needed for both of them to start poking into Derek and Stiles' business. 

Derek knew it was ungracious of him to feel that way about it, and he knew that Stiles really did need that follow-up visit, but that didn't stop him dragging his feet over the whole thing.

Going to Deaton's office wasn't as bad as it had been the first time. Stiles was closeted with Deaton longer -- getting tested for ADHD and probably other things -- but he and Derek were better bonded now and so Derek only got a little antsy. Of course, they were possibly a little _too_ well bonded, and so he definitely did get antsy.

The report was good, though. Deaton was pleased with Stiles' weight gain, he verified that he hadn't broken anything when he'd slipped in the bathtub, he put Derek's worries to rest over how little good the medication seemed to be doing Stiles' voice -- "It's going to take a while, Derek; the change won't happen overnight," -- he was going to prescribe a medication for the ADHD that Stiles did indeed have, and he seemed truly impressed by how much more at ease Stiles was now compared to the first time he had seen the boy.

Of course, he didn't say that last aloud. But Derek could tell he was thinking it.

Basically Deaton told them to carry on as they were doing, and he set up an appointment with Stiles as the Hale pack emissary rather than as the family doctor, specifically to ask Stiles about his previous owners.

Stiles grimaced but nodded, they decided that a couple of days later would work, and then they were on their way. It had all been relatively painless, for Derek at least, and Stiles seemed to be in decent enough spirits that Derek thought things must seem okay from his viewpoint as well.

That was one thing. Going to the Hale house to meet with Derek's mother was another entirely.

Thankfully, the fact that it was noon on a weekday meant that most of the adults were at work and most of the kids were at school. The huge, sprawling house was still far more noisy than Derek's small apartment, with toddlers banging around underfoot, babies crying, and the Hale slaves cleaning and serving lunch to the family members who _were_ home, but it wasn't as bad as it would be by dinnertime with the majority of the pack home.

Derek intended to be long gone by then, and his mother didn't seem to have any desire to make them stay past an hour or two. She had a private lunch for just the three of them delivered to her office, and they sat and talked while they ate.

Stiles was clearly stressed and anxious over being in a new place, but he remained close to Derek, reaching for him when Derek didn't have a hand on him, and he did calm down quite a bit as soon as the door to Talia's office was closed, shutting out all the sound of a house partially filled with werewolf children.

"Stiles, you're looking incredible," Derek's mother said, giving him a bright smile, diplomatically not making mention of the fading bruise on his cheekbone or the new bruising at his hairline. "And you seem much more settled than the first time we met."

"I apologize for that," Stiles rasped, bowing his head, but in respect rather than fear. "I apologize for not believing your words, Alpha Hale. You tried to tell me the truth and I didn't listen."

"You listened; you didn't believe," Talia corrected, but she was still smiling at Stiles, her eyes moving from his face to the fingers he and Derek had intertwined on one of Stiles' thighs. 

Derek lifted his chin defiantly. Not that he thought his mother would judge him, but he couldn't help feeling possessive over Stiles and his attachment to the boy.

"And after what you'd been through," Talia continued soothingly as Stiles raised his head and met her soft gaze, "I don't blame you for your mistrust. I'm just happy to see that you've come to accept that the Hale pack is different."

Stiles nodded and smiled shyly back at her, making Derek's heart ache. He was glad to see Stiles smile again, even if it wasn't aimed at him. He wished that the scab on Stiles' lip would heal, but at least he was still keeping the boy pain-free. He couldn't undo the damage, but he could lessen its effects.

Kind of the same way it was for Stiles in general, Derek mused, squeezing Stiles' hand carefully and giving him a reassuring grin when Stiles glanced at him. He couldn't undo Stiles' past experiences, but he could give him a pain and fear free life from here on out.

"Derek is... good," Stiles declared, squeezing Derek's hand back. It was as much the action as the words that made Derek's heart thump, and that was a little embarrassing in front of his mom, but at least he wasn't getting a hard-on for Stiles here in her office. Right now it was only his heart that was reacting.

"I know; he's my son," Talia said, but she didn't say it in a way that chided Stiles for not having seen it sooner, or in a way that was a humble-brag. She just stated it as a fact, and then she smiled at Derek with a warmth that was all for him.

Derek shrugged, a little uncomfortable with the praise, but glad that he could make two of the most important people in his life happy just by being himself, for whatever reason. 

Of course, he still felt that it had been Laura's presence that had opened Stiles' eyes to the truth, had allowed him to actually accept and believe that Derek wasn't like his previous owners, and he was grateful to her for that. But she wasn't the one who was continually working to make Stiles happier and to make his life better now. That was all Derek.

He wasn't feeling self-congratulatory over this last. He was just glad and grateful that Stiles was giving him the chance to try. 

Food was brought in, they ate, they talked; it went a lot more smoothly than that dinner in Derek's kitchen had, in no small part because Stiles wasn't panicking and Derek wasn't on edge in response to that. Talia and Derek still did most of the talking, but Stiles answered whenever directly addressed, and he was deferential toward Talia but he clearly wasn't afraid of her anymore.

After the better part of an hour had passed pleasantly enough, Derek started to feel restless. He loved his mother and this had been his home for more than twenty years, but he felt the need to take Stiles and get back to their apartment.

Talia smiled at him, clearly reading his thoughts, and ushered them toward the exit. She did make Derek promise to bring Stiles and join the family for dinner at least once a month, but she also added, "This visit counts toward that, so you can put it off for four more weeks if you'd like."

Derek did like, and he knew Stiles would feel more comfortable the longer they put it off.

"I'm happy to see you both wearing the wristbands," Talia said at the door, after she had hugged Derek goodbye and offered Stiles her hand to shake. 

"Every time we leave the apartment," Derek said, brandishing his.

"Thank you for the gift, Alpha Hale," Stiles murmured, toying with his wristband, then reaching out for Derek's hand again. Derek took it, folding their fingers together, seeking to overwrite his mother's scent on Stiles' skin. "I truly appreciate it."

"You're more than welcome, sweetheart," Talia said, giving Stiles a kiss on the temple opposite the one that was still a little bruised from his fall in the tub. "It's always good to let people know that you're a member of the Hale pack; our reputation is occasionally problematic, but we're wealthy and powerful enough that the name should gain you all the protection you might ever need."

Stiles nodded and gave her a small smile before they were on their way. Derek grumbled to himself over the fact that his mother had kissed Stiles, marking him that way, but he was happy that she accepted Stiles enough not only to kiss him but to call him by the pet name she usually reserved for Derek when he was feeling at his lowest. It mattered to Derek that Stiles be treated as family, just as much as it mattered to him that Stiles _accept_ that he was family.

Once they were home, Derek knew that he needed to mark Stiles as his own, after they'd spent time in his mother's home, sitting in her chairs, surrounded by the scents of the Hale pack, with his mother's touch lingering on Stiles' skin.

And Stiles knew as well, giving Derek a soft and indulgent look that wasn't quite a smile as he led him by the hand toward the bathroom as soon as they were through the door.

Derek was glad that this was something Stiles seemed to accept and embrace rather than simply enduring, since it was obviously something that Derek himself was going to continue to need. Especially as they both had to begin interacting more and more with the outside world.

They stripped and Stiles threw their clothes into the hamper without being prompted. Everything smelled of outside and of the Hale house and Derek's mother, and they were both going to have to put on new clothes that smelled only of them once they were finished in here.

Derek paused in front of the shower stall as Stiles joined him, running a hand down the boy's ribs, waist, and resting on his hip. The bruising was deep, almost black in the center, but it was beginning to fade to green around the edges, so Derek had faith that it was healing, and Deaton hadn't seemed concerned. He fully intended to continue draining Stiles' pain until there was no more need to do so, though.

Right now he wasn't taking Stiles' pain, because he had done it recently enough that Stiles wasn't feeling any. He just... he just wanted, needed to _touch_.

Stiles placed a hand over Derek's heart, palm pressing against his chest, fingers loose and relaxed. He glanced up at Derek, something sweet and yet sharp in his gaze, and Derek decided that today was the day that he was going to push for more. 

It finally felt _right_. It felt like it was time.

They both entered the shower stall and Stiles knelt, as was the norm. Derek's cock was beginning to swell, which was going to make urination difficult, but he could make it work. He didn't really want Stiles to see that he had a semi, though, so he wrapped his hand around the shaft. That wasn't unusual, because he needed to be able to direct the stream anyway.

Of course, even without friction, and even with a light touch, having his cock in his hand made it _more_ likely to get hard. Derek inhaled deeply, allowing the smell of his mother on both his own skin and Stiles' to wash over him, killing a large part of his arousal. There, that was effective. At least for now.

Stiles was kneeling before Derek, his face about on level with Derek's cock, and even though this was the position they always used for this, it was growing ever more evocative in Derek's mind, bringing thoughts of something else they could do with Stiles kneeling in front of him....

But that wasn't going to happen, and they were both here for something else entirely.

So instead of thinking of perverted things, Derek focused on his heavy bladder and his need to mark Stiles with his scent, his need to make the smell of his mother go away.

It was a relief, a release of a sort, and a pleasure all its own to let himself go, to let his urine splash hot and pungent on Stiles' shoulders and chest. Derek could see the liquid collecting, golden and gleaming, in the hollow between Stiles' sharp collarbones. He angled his cock so that he could piss on Stiles' throat when the boy tipped his head back without prompting. Derek then reached with the hand not cradling his cock to tilt Stiles head to one side, getting the tip of his cock right up next to the thin skin of Stiles' temple where his mother had kissed the boy, being careful not to piss in Stiles' eye or ear as he kissed that spot himself with his cock-head and stained it with the last thin trickle of his urine as his bladder emptied.

Stiles didn't seem at all faze by that final action, and he rose readily enough to his feet when Derek reached down to lift him.

Normally this was the moment when Derek turned on the water and they washed off together, with or without soap depending on how recently they'd bathed previously and how badly Derek felt he needed Stiles to smell like his.

But today.... Derek had something else in mind. As he had decided before they had entered the shower, he wanted this to be reciprocal. And he thought, he hoped, Stiles was finally ready for the suggestion.

He palmed Stiles' elbows, meeting his eyes, staring at him intently. Stiles held his gaze without flinching, and he looked curious rather than nervous, which gave Derek hope.

"Stiles," he rasped, then cleared his throat, trying to chase away the nervousness he felt. He decided to take a page from Laura's book, because it was only polite, and because it seemed like the right thing to do. As an additional bonus, thinking about his sister worked pretty much the same as thinking about his mother to quell his pending arousal. Now that his bladder was empty and the tip of his cock felt tingly-cold with the last drops of clinging piss, he was in serious dangerous of popping another hard-on. 

Especially with what he was about to ask from Stiles.

"You can say no," he said, echoing his older sister when she'd asked Stiles for a hug. "But I want...." He paused and licked his lips, feeling a tug of arousal when Stiles' dark brown eyes tracked the movement of his tongue. "Can I ask you to mark me now?"

Stiles' pulse fluttered for a moment and his eyes went wide. Derek hastened to add;

"I won't kneel if you don't want me to. We can just do it right now, the way we are. And you can say no. I won't be mad or upset, okay? I just... it's something I've been wanting for a while now. You're mine, so I mark you. But I'm yours as well, and I want you to mark me the way I mark you."

Stiles' head jerked backward, though he made no move to break away from the light hold Derek had on his arms. Then he stood perfectly still, blinking rapidly, and Derek was pretty sure... he hoped that Stiles was processing his request, his razor-quick brain working it over.

"It's okay if you don't want to," Derek repeated, because it was important that Stiles know that. "Or if you think it might be something you can do later but not right now."

"No," Stiles crackled out unexpectedly. "No, it's okay. I can.... I think I can do it?"

Derek smiled in relief and leaned in to press his lips against the corner of Stiles' mouth, just a quick brush, there and gone. He almost couldn't smell his mother on Stiles anymore, which was the goal here.

Actually, the goal had changed now... so that it was Derek who was going to smell of Stiles. Hopefully.

They both glanced down at once, almost involuntarily. Derek's cock was a little plump already, but he ignored that embarrassing fact in favor of examining Stiles' cock. For all they spent time naked in one another's company every morning, he hadn't really focused on it. He wasn't a huge prude, but he'd been trying to keep the whole marking thing completely non-sexual. But now that Stiles was going to be pissing on him, Derek let himself look. If only for a moment or two.

Stiles wasn't circumcised, which was moderately unusual for a human slave. Well, that practice had begun to fall out of favor in the last few years, and Derek was glad, even if it was probably because it was coming to be considered an unnecessary expense rather than because it was a ritualistic mutilation. He'd always considered it to be a cruel thing to do to a male human baby who couldn't express their consent, who couldn't say no. However his parents had managed it, Derek was glad to see that it hadn't been done to Stiles.

He also had a thick thatch of dark pubic hair; a fact which made Derek feel a little less wrong for lusting after him, though he still had zero intentions of acting on this lust. Stiles was more a young man than a boy, no matter how Derek thought of him... but he was also completely off limits.

Derek tried to tell that to his willful cock, but it seemed to have a mind of its own, especially when it was in such close proximity to Stiles' cock.

Stiles wasn't even a little bit hard, a fact which Derek made note of and tried to use to convince his own hard-on to go away. That was something that was more easily conceived of than accomplished, unfortunately.

Especially once Stiles actually started pissing right on Derek's cock. Which only made sense, considering that they were almost the same height and Derek was pretty sure that even though he'd agreed to this, Stiles would be uncomfortable with him kneeling, so they were both going to remain standing facing each other. Which they were doing right now.

The hot splash on the sensitive skin of his cock had it fattening up within an instant, and Derek's breath caught before he could stop himself from reacting. Stiles faltered and the flow stopped, and Derek coughed a little, making sure to keep his eyes up, staring resolutely over Stiles' shoulder, knowing his cheeks were bright red but unable to control his flush any more than he could control his cock.

"Just ignore that, okay," he said, his voice coming out kind of small and a little hoarse. "Sorry," he tacked on, hunching his shoulders. 

He could see Stiles chewing on his lower lip out the corner of his eye, and that was only going to make his problem worse. He was half convinced that Stiles would push away, decide he was done with the attempt, turn on the water or even exit the shower stall altogether....

But instead Stiles took a slow, deep breath and shuffled a fraction of a step closer to Derek, reaching down and holding himself with one hand the way Derek had been doing, in order to lift his cock and aim the stream as he started pissing again.

Derek barely restrained a shudder of pleasure when the hot liquid hit his shaft again, then flooded the bush of his pubes, trickling ticklishly down his balls, trailing down his thighs to wet his calves and twine around his ankles. 

By the point it got that low it was cooling and even more ticklish, and Derek tried to focus more on that fact than the heated gush that was striking his rapidly stiffening cock, but this was a battle that he had really lost before it had begun.

Marking a slave with urine wasn't supposed to become a sexual thing, Derek knew. But he was coming to find himself more and more attracted to Stiles the more time he spent in the boy's company. And when they were both naked and there were cocks involved, not to mentioned heated wetness rushing over Derek's sensitive genitalia....

It was because it was _Stiles_ , Derek was willing to admit to himself. But the attraction and the desire were things that he _could not_ act on. And so he held perfectly still and tried every trick he knew to quell his rising arousal, and even though he failed miserably at that last, he could at least say that he'd _tried_.

It seemed to last forever and yet no time at all, and then Stiles was done, and Derek smelled of him the same way he smelled of Derek, and Derek's traitorous cock was fully erect. 

The only thing Derek could really do was ignore his hard-on the way he'd told Stiles to do, and so he took a step back, releasing Stiles with one last squeeze to his un-bruised upper arm, a hoarse, "Thank you," then he turned the water on.

They both rinsed off, neither using any soap by unspoken agreement, and Derek decided he just... he just _had_ to break with tradition.

"Go ahead and dry off and get dressed," he told Stiles, palm pressed to the center of the boy's back, feeling as though he might burn Stiles with the heat that was radiating through his entire body but unable to stop himself from touching at least this little bit. "I'll join you soon."

Stiles blinked at him with starred lashes from under wet bangs, and he licked lips that were chewed crimson and shiny with shower water. His cheeks were blotchy pink, flushed all the way down his neck to his chest, though that might have been the heat of the water than anything else. He couldn't have looked more delectable if he had tried, and he was _killing_ Derek. There was something dark and unreadable in his deep brown eyes, but he nodded and did as directed.

Once Stiles was out of the bathroom entirely, Derek did what he had not once allowed himself to do; he jerked off with Stiles on his mind, and with the scent of Stiles filling his nostrils.

The shower hadn't washed away the salty-bitter tang of Stiles' urine, not so that Derek's werewolf senses couldn't pick it up, and the cascade of water provided an impromptu sort of lubrication as he wrapped his fingers around the shaft of his thick, blood-swollen, throbbing cock right where Stiles had pissed on it, and began to beat himself off with far more force than finesse.

Flowing water wasn't really the best way to ease the friction, but anything slick he might have used -- there was conditioner close at hand, after all -- would have had its own scent that would have overwritten the smell of Stiles marking Derek with his own urine. And the mere thought of that was unacceptable.

At any rate, it didn't take Derek more than one minute before he was grunting, falling back against the wall to brace himself as his balls tightened and he pumped out his load all over his fingers and on the shower stall floor.

Derek tried not to groan, not wanting Stiles to hear, as the smell of his release mingled with the scent of both his piss and Stiles', and he rubbed some of his jizz into the shaft of his cock, mixing it with the lingering odor of Stiles that was worked into the skin there.

His brain was foggy with arousal and floaty with the afterglow of his orgasm, and Derek wondered what it would smell like if it was their semen that was mingled instead of just his and Stiles' piss, both of them coming at the same time and Derek smearing their jizz all over both their bodies....

His cock gave one last flex where he was holding onto it a little too tightly, but then sense and reality began to come back to Derek, faster than he would have liked, and he was flooded with more roiling guilt than warm satisfaction.

There was nothing wrong with masturbating in the shower he shared with Stiles, he thought ruefully as he rinsed off, made sure all his spunk had washed down the drain, and then stepped out to dry himself off, the surface of his skin still tingling and his cock still fat and pulsing even though his erection had been dealt with. 

But doing it to thoughts of Stiles.... Doing it immediately after he'd gotten Stiles to mark him in return; something that was supposed to be about closeness and comfort, and _not_ about sex at all....

Those things were not so acceptable.

Derek had been being so good. He'd been trying so hard. And he didn't think he'd completely fucked things up, but maybe he should have tried a little harder to keep his libido in check.

And, okay, he could admit that this was something of an impossible ideal to pursue with how he was coming to feel about Stiles, so he maybe shouldn't beat himself up too much for not being able to manage it.

But he still probably should have tried harder.

*** 

Things were different after the day that Derek asked Stiles to mark him in return, but it wasn't because of that request. 

Well, not really.

Not where Stiles was concerned, anyway. He wasn't sure about Derek, had no way of knowing what was going on in Derek's head. But for Stiles....

Stiles hadn't been upset or frightened or even really disconcerted by the hard-on Derek had been sporting when he'd pissed on his dick in the shower. After all, most guys would get hard if there was a stream of body-hot liquid rushing over their junk. It would actually have been weirder if Derek _hadn't_ gotten hard.

And he had only been a little stunned by the idea that Derek wanted to be marked the way he marked Stiles. He'd already had to adjust so many of his ideas of how the world worked to deal with his new life here with Derek that the reality of marking his owner was only one more of many, and not even the hardest he'd had to deal with.

No, the thing that made Stiles feel like everything was different now was that after the fact -- once he was out of the shower and dried off and dressed and patiently waiting for Derek in the living room -- it had been _Stiles_ who'd felt his dick give an interested little twitch at the thought that Derek was almost certainly jerking off in the shower he could still hear running.

And that was... well, it wasn't _new_ , but it had been such a long time that Stiles almost felt as though it was completely new. It was definitely new to find himself getting turned on by visualizing Derek.

It was new but not incomprehensible. After all, even for a werewolf Derek was attractive. Stiles would have to have blind not to see it. The more comfortable he became in Derek's home and the more the fear he had used to feel faded away, the more Stiles was able to see and appreciate Derek's good looks.

It wasn't just how gorgeous Derek was, with his pale, wide-set eyes and his strong nose, his plush lips and chiseled cheekbones, his scruffy stubble and his soft, dark hair. It was also that he was a good person with a good heart. He was just _good_ , as Stiles had told Alpha Hale. And Stiles found that this attracted him as well.

It would have been hard to get turned on by someone he was afraid would hurt him, Stile thought. But he trusted Derek. Trusted him more than anyone else in his life, since his parents. And his mother had died and left him, and his father had let him be sold away when he'd only been ten....

Stiles wasn't stupid; he knew that neither of them had had _any_ choice in the matter. His mother would have lived if she could have. His father had been a slave in Deucalion's household and hadn't had _any_ leverage that would have enabled him in even attempting to hold onto his son.

But no matter how logical Stiles could be, his heart still hurt when he thought of his parents, in different ways at different times. They hadn't meant to hurt him, of course they hadn't, but he _had_ been hurt.

Derek hadn't yet hurt Stiles -- physically or emotionally -- and he hadn't let him down in any way, at all. In fact, he'd done more for Stiles than Stiles would ever have thought possible.

Not that Stiles could ever have imagined any of this, back before Derek. Derek was the polar opposite of every other owner Stiles had ever belonged to, and this fact still boggled him each time Stiles stopped to think about it.

So Stiles felt safe, here in Derek's apartment, wrapped up in Derek's arms. He should have expected that this would bring about a resurrection of his sex drive. He was only sixteen, after all, and it was pretty normal for a teenage boy to be horny basically all the time. He was pretty sure that was why Emissary Deaton had given him the lubricant.

Which had been thoughtful and would come in handy, but Stiles wasn't sure _when_ he should use it.

Now that his dick had decided to rouse and get awkwardly hard when he and Derek were laying in bed together, Derek's arms wrapped around him, Derek's chest solid and muscle-packed against his upper back, or when Derek sometimes gripped the nape of his neck, carefully but firmly, while they were cooking together in the kitchen or when they curled together on the sofa watching a movie, Stiles was hyper-aware of Derek's enhanced senses.

Because there was no way Derek wasn't aware of Stiles' arousal. Even if he couldn't see the tenting in Stiles' pants -- which was usually pretty obvious -- he would be able to smell his hard-on. 

He was way better at hiding it than Stiles was, but Derek was getting erections too, probably just in response to whatever odors Stiles was exuding. It was doubly awkward, making Stiles flush with embarrassment and shame together. He felt bad that he was causing Derek to react to what his own body was doing, and he knew that Derek was too nice a guy to punish him for it the way he probably should.

But there was no way Stiles could think of to control himself now that he'd rediscovered his dick. He just couldn't figure out when he should be jerking off. Derek was home all day, every day, and they slept in the same bed at night. Stiles wouldn't want to suggest he go back to his own room, stop sleeping with Derek, not for any reason. As long as Derek didn't suggest it....

And Derek didn't suggest it. But he _did_ start shutting himself in his room while Stiles was occupied cleaning the kitchen after a meal or placing the online grocery order... emerging after five or ten minutes with flushed cheeks and messy hair and a slightly shamefaced expression.

Which, it was _good_ that he was taking the time for himself, Stiles thought sadly. It was all Stiles' fault Derek was getting riled up enough to need this, and it was a natural thing for Derek to take it to the normal conclusion. He shouldn't be ashamed of it in any fashion. Especially since they were both sharing a bed at night, both sporting wood either before falling asleep, upon waking, or both, and neither of them could jerk it then.

So, since Derek was "busy" in those periods of time where he shut himself away behind a closed and presumably locked door, and since that gave Stiles some time to himself as well, Stiles took to abandoning whatever his task was, tip-toeing into his own room, and breaking out the lube Emissary Deaton had given him.

It was an amazing feeling, having something so slick to work with, and he came in under two minutes the first time he got his hand on himself. He'd forgotten how amazing it felt to jerk off, and he wasn't the least bit embarrassed over having climaxed so fast. He didn't feel much of anything other than the pleasure shuddering through him, making his eyes roll and his toes curl.

Chances were Derek could hear Stiles while he masturbated. He tried to be quiet, but it just felt so good. Mostly he stuck to rubbing his aching dick until he shot off, but the more he did it, the more he got curious and started trying new things. Like cupping and cradling his balls, rubbing at the sensitive swell right behind them with lube-slick fingertips, and then finally, pushing up against the tight pucker of his asshole.

Stiles knew about anal sex. He knew about all different kinds of sex acts. He'd only been ten when he'd been sold away from his father and he'd never even so much as kissed another human, but he'd listened when his fellow slaves had talked, and a lot of them had been pretty coarse. Then there had been an older girl who'd taken a liking to him for a little while when he'd been thirteen, and while she'd never touched him in any questionable ways, she'd told him he was pretty enough that someone might, and she'd taken care to educate him in all the things he might then be expected to do.

She'd also told him that if another human male tried to do something he didn't want, he should kick or punch them in the nuts and run. So Stiles considered most of what he'd learned from her to be good advice.

Thankfully, Heather had been wrong and there hadn't been anyone, male or female, human or lupine, who had been interested in Stiles sexually. He wasn't disappointed by this fact, because before Derek he'd never met anyone that he _wanted_ to have touch him in a sexual manner.

Derek was off limits; that went without saying. He was a werewolf. He was Stiles' owner. He was about a million times better looking than Stiles was. And he would probably fall in love with a nice wolf someday and get married and maybe make babies. If Stiles was lucky Derek's future mate wouldn't dislike him, and he'd still be around and get to help raise the little Hales....

This thought was kind of depressing though, for reasons that Stiles didn't want to dwell on. Falling for a werewolf had never been anything he'd been in danger of before, but he knew he was teetering on the edge where Derek was concerned.

What he did do, because Derek couldn't actually read his thoughts, and since Stiles was occasionally self destructive, was to imagine while he was jerking on his dick with one slick hand, the other hand shoving a couple of lubed fingers up his ass, while he was stifling his whimpers into his pillow and panting for breath, his thighs pulling up, his hips flexing... he imagined that Derek was listening to him from his bedroom, with his werewolf senses.

He imagined that Derek was getting even more hot and bothered, soaking in the pathetic little noises that Stiles was making, eavesdropping on the spanking sounds of his lube-drenched fingers moving over his dick, sliding in and out of his asshole, and he imagined that Derek was using the to fuel himself as he flogged his own big, fat cock.

Stiles knew what Derek's junk looked like now, both flaccid and erect, from their moments together in the shower, and he loved to visualize Derek's elegant fingers moving over it, wet with the lube he was undoubtedly using as well, clutching at himself, giving himself the same pleasure that Stiles was indulging in.....

Of course, when he wasn't writhing around on his bed in pursuit of orgasm, Stiles knew logically that there was no way what he was doing would really be turning Derek on _that_ much. Not any more than maybe watching strangers fuck in porn or something, right?

Because Stiles was human and he might be a little bit pretty, according to Heather, but Derek could have anyone he wanted and he was so much prettier than Stiles could ever dream of being. Sure, Derek was getting erections because Stiles kept reeking of arousal, but that was involuntary. It wasn't because of who Stiles was; it was just because of what Stiles' body was doing.

They both started jerking off more, and sometimes it was even Stiles who retreated to his bedroom first, as he became more comfortable with the whole situation, and when he just kept getting more and more turned on the more time he spent around Derek.

It might have helped if Derek hadn't spent so much time _touching_ him. He rubbed Stiles' neck and throat, he pressed his mouth against his temples, he licked the line of Stiles' lower lip and then pushed his lips right up against the corner of Stiles' mouth and held there, sharing his breath and his scent. His hands were large and sure where they skated over Stiles' torso through his clothes, and whenever he relieved Stiles of the lingering pain he was feeling from his fall, that had to be bare skin on bare skin.

There was no respite from the marking in the shower, either. Not that Stiles really wanted there to be. And now Derek wasn't the only one getting hard. 

Stiles had always before simply endured when one of his owners had felt the need to piss on him in order to mark him as theirs. But with Derek, he was coming to not only welcome it, but to assign it a certain amount of pleasure in his mind.

He wasn't completely sure whether the pleasure was sexual, but when the urine was streaming down his chest and sliding into his pubes, his dick was getting hard. So he was probably deluding himself if he didn't consider it to be sexual.

It was thrilling to get to mark Derek in turn. There was something so taboo about it. Human slaves weren't supposed to do that to their owners, and yet Derek wanted it. So much. And Stiles found that he wanted it too, though that might just have been in echo of Derek's need.

Derek never knelt, and Stiles was glad for that. So he only really ever pissed on Derek's thick, throbbing hard-on, and that was sexual too. It hadn't seemed to at first, but the longer it went on, the more it came to feel that way to Stiles.

And Derek seemed to feel the same. At first he'd been embarrassed and tried to get them both to ignore it, but it became more natural and more difficult to ignore each time they did it, every morning when they indulged in this mutual marking in the bathroom.

By the time it was Stiles' turn, his shoulders, neck, and torso drenched in Derek's scent, his dick was so stiff he could barely manage to piss at all and Derek was so erect that it almost looked like it hurt. His foreskin was retracted, a bead of precome gathering in the tip of dick, most likely mingling with the last drops of piss, and he would breathe heavily, his mouth pressed against Stiles' chin or forehead, his hands hard on Stiles' elbows or shoulders, his eyes either closed or else focused intently downward, watching it happen.

Stiles half expected Derek to someday reach for his dick, maybe hold it while he pissed, maybe even offer to jerk him off afterward. He almost wanted to offer to do that for Derek, or else to go on his knees and suck him off. 

But there were their relative positions as owner and personal slave to take into consideration. Not to mention the fact that Derek was a werewolf and Stiles was human. It wasn't illegal or forbidden, but it was considered pretty low class for a wolf to fuck his slave, and Stiles knew that Derek was better than that. He wasn't a deviant, and it wasn't really because of Stiles that Derek was getting sexually aroused, no matter how much his hands and mouth roamed over various parts of Stiles' body and face during the heat of the moment.

It was all a matter of scent marking, and Stiles felt settled and safe, knowing that he smelled so much of Derek. It was probably some failing in him that he'd come to be sexually stimulated by something that was supposed to be routine, but he had, and it wasn't Derek's fault that his own body was responding in kind.

Maybe it was for the best that Derek's two weeks off finally came to an end, and he left the apartment for close to nine hours a day... and yet it was hellish without him there.

Sure, Stiles could jerk off any time he wanted while Derek was at work. But he didn't really want to. He just wanted Derek back. Thankfully Derek worked close by and didn't have a long commute. But he worked an eight hour day, which felt like way too long for Stiles to be alone in Derek's apartment.

Before, he'd have thought he would like being alone.... But that had been before he'd come to depend on Derek so much, to truly enjoy his company.

For his part, Derek seemed to miss Stiles just as much. Stiles didn't think it was his imagination, because within seconds of Derek coming home every day he found himself wrapped up in his owner's arms, held so tightly he could hardly breathe, Derek's nose buried in the hollow behind his ear and Derek's breath puffing hot and hard against his neck. 

Stiles had learned to _not_ have dinner waiting like he'd normally have been inclined to do, because the very next thing Derek did was drag Stiles to his bed and lay on top of him, just sucking in the smell of his exposed throat for a good ten to fifteen minutes, before he calmed enough to do things like worry about food.

Stiles would card his fingers through Derek's hair, which was as soft as it looked, and tip his chin back, offering Derek anything he needed, ignoring the fact that both of them had erections, and take as much comfort in their closeness as Derek was experiencing.

After that they'd go cook dinner together, which Derek seemed to prefer to do anyway rather than being served, and then they'd spend the rest of the evening curled up on the sofa, watching movies or television programming, or occasionally playing video games.

In all honesty Stiles couldn't _wait_ for the weekend, was looking forward to sleeping in and spending the entire day with Derek, for two days in a row.

It seemed to take forever, but finally it was Saturday morning, and they were enjoying a nice hour of digestion on the sofa after eating an amazing breakfast. Stiles felt calm and contented with his head resting on Derek's shoulder, and it didn't even feel weird anymore to trust a werewolf so much, to _want_ to be close to one, because it was _Derek_.

Then Derek stiffened, and a moment later the door buzzer sounded, violent and tearing through the apartment. Or maybe Stiles just found the sound discordant because it meant that _someone was here_. Someone was here _uninvited_.

Derek grumbled and growled his way to the door, and then snarled when he found out it was his uncle, but he gave the doorman the go-ahead to let him come up.

Stiles pouted, but he steeled himself and rose off the sofa. He barely remembered Derek's uncle, who'd been present when Derek had purchased him. He'd been lost in a haze of fear and had only a foggy memory of a werewolf with slick hair and a slicker smirk, one who'd mocked Derek but had helped him out when Derek hadn't been able to do things for himself.

Stiles wasn't exactly looking forward to meeting Peter Hale again; especially not when he hadn't been able to mentally prepare himself. But it wasn't as though he had any choice. Derek clearly wasn't happy about it either, but he was already letting Peter in.

"Hello, nephew," Peter greeted, giving Derek a hug, and Stiles frowned because he was getting his scent all over Derek. Granted, Stiles wouldn't be able to smell it; at least not strongly. But these sorts of things had evidently come to matter to him, if only because they obviously mattered so much to Derek.

"I just saw you yesterday," Derek groused, stepping back the moment Peter let go of him. "At four o'clock, in fact. It hasn't even been one full day, so don't act like it's been forever."

"Work is work," Peter smirked, taking off his long leather jacket with a flourish and hanging it on the coat rack. "This is a social call."

"I'm not feeding you," Derek said, scowling, shifting from foot to foot. It looked as though his uncle made him feel uncomfortable in his own home, but there was nothing Stiles could do about that, even though he didn't like it at all.

"I don't require food," Peter said airily, waving a hand in Derek's direction but his gaze fixed on Stiles now, crystal blue and unwavering. "What I'd like is to meet Stiles again. We've seen one another before, it's true, but it was under duress, so to speak. And since I have to smell him every day at the office I thought a formal introduction might not be amiss."

Stiles went white. Derek went red. But Derek didn't seem anywhere near as freaked out as Stiles was feeling; in fact, after a moment his jaw firmed and his chin went up defiantly, despite his blush.

"Fine," he bit out, striding back over to Stiles and wrapping an arm around his shoulders, pressing his closed lips to his temple for a moment. "Stiles, this is my uncle, Peter. Uncle Peter, this is my Stiles. Don't touch him."

Peter arched a brow in a move so smooth Stiles suspected he practiced it in a mirror, but he didn't call Derek on his possessive words or behavior, just smirked at Stiles and gave a little wave that somehow seemed to manage to be as sardonic as his expression. "Hi."

"Hello," Stiles said, a little embarrassed by the way his voice croaked when Peter's was so smooth, even though Derek said that it was getting better and Stiles didn't think he was lying or exaggerating.

He kind of wanted to thank Peter. For helping Derek purchase him. For employing Derek. For being a family member who obviously cared about Derek and his happiness, even if he couldn't be bothered to warn Derek he was visiting or to wait for an invitation.

But then, Peter _was_ here without an invitation, on a weekend, making snide comments and staring at Stiles with sharp blue eyes that made him feel more than a little uncomfortable. Unsafe. Even though he was within Derek's half embrace, and that made it even more disturbing.

This wasn't like meeting Laura, or even Alpha Hale. And not just because Peter had seen Stiles when he'd been naked, filthy, and beaten down. 

It was more because Peter's gaze was telling Stiles that he had seen him naked, filthy, and beaten down, and that he was never going to forget that.

"Maybe some tea," Peter suggested, already striding toward the kitchen even though Derek let out a little growl in response to both his words and actions. "Unless there's coffee left."

"Uncle Peter, it's Saturday," Derek said, though he trailed along after the older werewolf, Stiles being dragged along with him somewhat unwilling, but not to the point of resisting. "Did you really have to come over?"

"Of course I did," Peter drawled, moving around Derek's kitchen as though he knew where everything was, and Stiles scowled. He was a little surprised by the surge of possessiveness he was feeling -- more for the fact that Peter was invading Derek's space than that he was invading _their_ space, though there was that too -- but it wasn't as if he could do anything about it.

"I got up early especially to stop by," Peter continued, hands elegant and assured as he set about brewing some tea. "You should be flattered that I'm awake before noon on a weekend."

Derek grumbled something under his breath that Stiles couldn't hear even though he was close, but which Peter evidently could considering the arch, mildly amused look he shot Derek over his shoulder.

"Very mature, nephew," Peter snorted, and then turned most of his attention to making himself a mug of tea. 

Derek sighed and settled down at the table, pulling Stiles into his lap and pressing his chin against the curve of Stiles' shoulder and neck.

"Don't you have cream?" Peter asked, standing before the fridge and staring inside in a way that made Stiles grateful that Derek was organized and that Stiles had adopted that method of storage like the good personal slave he was.

"No," Derek grumped out, and were those his teeth catching at the material of the top Stiles was wearing? His arms were certainly tight around Stiles' stomach, and it wasn't exactly comfortable after the big breakfast they'd had, but Stiles appreciated the possessiveness of his grip and the feeling of safety that it gave him.

"I used it all for the sweet biscuits I made to have with the strawberries," Stiles volunteered, and then he regretted it when Peter turned to them with a look on his face that Stiles could only describe as predatory.

"Sweet biscuits, you say?" 

"No," Derek grumped, and even though he was behind Stiles, Stiles felt he knew exactly what Derek's eyebrows were doing and it was hard not to smile fondly, but he wasn't going to smile where Peter could see him. "I already told you I'm not feeding you."

"Derek," Peter said in a longsuffering, overly reasonable tone of voice. "You don't wave sweet biscuits in front of a man and then deny him. That would just be cruel."

Derek snorted, a hot and damp blast of air that grazed Stiles' neck, raising the hairs of his nape, and he was glad the thick sweatshirt -- Derek's, of course -- that he had on took most of the brunt or he'd be getting turned on. Bad enough he was sitting on Derek's lap, but the disturbing presence of Derek's uncle was keeping his libido mostly in check.

"I'm texting Lydia to bring some cream," Peter continued blithely, pulling his phone out of his pocket. "I'm sure you don't mind, do you, Derek?"

Derek growled. "Why would I mind _two_ uninvited guests in my apartment on a Saturday morning," he snarked. Then he sighed and butted his forehead against the top of Stiles' spine, not hard at all. "Stiles, were there biscuits left over?"

There were indeed biscuits left over, as well as some of the strawberries, and Peter seemed to have no qualms about helping himself. Stiles was glad that Derek didn't make him serve it up; he'd have done it, and it probably should have been his task, but it would have made him feel... uncomfortable to serve Peter. In ways that he couldn't quite figure out.

It was less than ten minutes before this Lydia, whoever she was, arrived and buzzed to be let in. Peter must live close, Stiles thought, frowning faintly, as Peter went to get the door. At least this way he didn't have to get off of Derek's lap; which was especially good, since Derek didn't seem the slightest bit inclined to let him go.

Stiles wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, with no information other than a name to go on, but evidently Lydia was human, a girl about Stiles' own age with sparkling eyes and long, fiery hair that curled around her like a royal mantle. She was short, tiny in fact, but her personality very much made up for that, as did her obvious fashion sense. 

She was evidently Peter's personal slave, but she almost seemed to be the one in charge between the two of them. Even though she'd been given the task of bringing Peter some cream, she delivered it as if it had been all her own idea, and then set about making coffee despite the fact that she was in Derek's apartment.

Stiles didn't miss the sidelong, curious looks she gave him, but for the most part she ignored his presence, focused on her task with barely a nod for Derek.

It seemed beyond rude to Stiles, but neither Derek nor Peter seemed bothered, and Stiles recalled what Alpha Hale had said about the pack slaves being considered family. He'd thought it was hyperbole, or at best an exaggeration, but maybe....

Once Lydia had her coffee with both cream and sugar in it, she settled down at the table opposite Derek, next to Peter, cradling the mug in tiny hands and angling an almost evil look sideways at her owner.

"You woke me early on a Saturday," she said to him, her full pink lips pressed together tightly in obvious disapproval. Stiles' eyes widened. She didn't look as though she'd been awakened recently; her hair and makeup were perfect, her eyes were bright and clear, and her clothing was impeccable. She also didn't sound like a slave addressing her owner, and Stiles cringed instinctively into Derek's lap.

"It was an emergency," Peter told her, maybe a tiny bit defensively, then he pushed the plate of sweet biscuits and strawberries he'd been eating with relish toward her. Since he'd been taking his time in savoring it there was still a good third of his generous portion left. "Breakfast?"

Lydia snorted but she accepted the offering, and Peter went to make himself some more tea, adding a generous amount of cream and even more sugar than Lydia had used in her coffee; enough to make Stiles wince and he'd discovered while living with Derek that he had a definite sweet tooth.

Now Lydia turned her attention to Stiles and since she was a slave like he was, he let himself look at her in return. She had more seniority than he had, but this was his owner's home and being on Derek's lap made him bolder than he otherwise normally would have been.

Lydia's perfectly painted nails matched her lip gloss and both complimented her green-blue eyes and creamy ivory and pink complexion. She was pretty, with a heart-shaped face and dimples, but there was something about her that Stiles found intimidating. She certainly didn't seem to mind that she was human and a slave. She seemed to feel as though she was in command, and maybe she was.

For her part, Lydia didn't seem completely displeased by what she was seeing. Her gaze glanced over the scar Stiles had around his left eye but didn't linger. She seemed more interested in surveying the entirety of Stiles' person.

He probably made quite a picture, Stiles thought with more blunt honesty than self consciousness. He'd gained back a fair amount of weight in the two and a half weeks he'd been living with Derek, but he was still kind of scrawny. He knew his cheekbones were extreme; even more so than Derek's were. His hair was getting longer but it had been buzzed, down when Derek had purchased him so it was growing in kind of messy. Then there was the scar on his face, which Lydia had definitely noticed, even if she hadn't stared.

Add to all this the fact that Stiles was sitting on Derek's lap, with Derek's arms wrapped possessively around his belly, and Derek glowering at Peter over his shoulder. That wasn't exactly normal behavior for a werewolf and their personal slave. 

Stiles was relieved that Lydia couldn't _smell_ either of them the way Peter could. Since she couldn't smell, she wouldn't be able judge either them for the fact that Derek was still regularly marking Stiles long after most owners would have stopped, or that Stiles was marking Derek... unless Peter had told her, of course.

"You look older than I expected, from what Peter told me," Lydia finally spoke up, licking the tines of her fork delicately with a nimble red tongue, her eyes still fixed on Stiles. "I'd expected a child, but your shoulders are actually quite broad."

"Rude," Peter huffed, and Lydia reached over to smack his upper arm with the back of her hand.

"Like you're one to talk," she replied, then stood and collected the empty plate and utensils, taking them over to the sink. "I don't know why I ever listen to you anyway."

"Because I'm a delight to listen to," Peter said, which surprised Stiles. He'd honestly been expecting Peter to say _"Because I'm your owner."_

Lydia snorted again and went to pour herself a second cup of coffee. "You're a liar and a menace," she told him, with what Stiles found to be an astonishing and terrifying lack of respect for the fact that Lydia was a slave and Peter could kill her without even thinking about it and suffer no repercussions.

"Derek, Stiles, would you like some coffee?" she asked, leaving her mug on the counter and turning to raise her brows at both of them. It was the closest to subservient that Stiles had seen her, and it wasn't very. She spoke to them more as though she was the hostess offering them something, rather than the guest in their apartment, much less a slave offering to bring something to an owner.

"No thanks," Derek grunted, and Stiles shook his head. He was strangely reluctant to use his cracking, raspy voice. Normally he wasn't ashamed of it, but normally he was only speaking to Derek or maybe Emissary Deaton, and very occasionally Alpha Hale. 

Lydia pursed her lips in a mouse, picking up her mug and returning to the table.

"So what are you doing here, Peter?" she asked sweetly, still watching Derek and Stiles even though she was addressing her owner.

Peter arched both brows at her at once. "I thought that would be obvious; checking on how my beloved nephew and the personal slave I helped him choose are getting along."

"Mm-hm." Lydia un-pursed her lips long enough to take a sip of coffee. 

"What?" Peter said defensively, scowling at her. "It's the truth."

"Oh, I know it is," she sighed. "It's one of your only good traits; how much you care about Derek."

Peter looked uncomfortable and glanced over at Derek and Stiles, then huffed and went to refresh his tea, even though his mug was still half full.

Stiles blinked at Lydia and she offered him a smile that looked equal parts charming and dangerous.

"Shall we go into the living room and talk slave-talk?" she asked sweetly, then she tilted her head and switched her gaze to Derek directly. "That is, if your owner is able to let go of you...."

Derek grumbled and nosed at Stiles' neck, but his arms loosened. 

"I actually did have something pack related to discuss with you," Peter informed Derek, looking uncharacteristically sober as he returned to the table. "So now might be a good time to let Stiles and Lydia leave the kitchen. Not that I don't trust you," he told Lydia, touching the crown of her head delicately, fingertips pressed to her glossy gold-red hair. "Just, it's not something you need to worry about."

"Of course," she said, nodding and getting to her feet. "Stiles?"

Derek grumbled some more, but he let Stiles up. Since Peter and Lydia didn't seem like the sort who would judge -- hell, they barely acted like slave and owner at all -- Stiles paused long enough to press his palm against the side of Derek's throat, sharing his scent and feeling the throb of his pulse under his hand.

"This won't take long," Peter said. "And then we'll be on our way and we'll let you get back to your lazy morning together."

Stiles grimaced a little, because it had seemed to him that Peter had put a peculiar emphasis on "together" but he was turning away from the table and so he was pretty sure Peter hadn't seen his expression.

Lydia was even more tiny when she was standing beside Stiles, and for the first time in, well, _ever_ , he felt bigger and stronger than someone else.

Though he was willing to bet that Lydia would be able to take him in a fight. She was small and slender, but she looked like she could hold her own, and she had an air of confidence that bespoke complete assurance in her own safety.

Not that Stiles would ever want to fight her, for any reason. If anything, he felt compelled to protect her; for all she obviously didn't need it. For a lot of human slaves it was a matter of survival of the fittest, everyone for themselves, but Stiles' parents hadn't raised him that way. He had more often been reduced to looking out for himself, but it was good to know that he still held to the higher morals that his father and mother had worked so hard to instill in him.

Lydia perched on the edge of the sofa, knees together, ankles crossed, still holding her coffee mug with both hands, and she watched Stiles closely as he sat beside her, carefully situation himself near enough that they could hear one another speak but far enough away that she wouldn't be able to easily touch him. Stiles knew that Derek would be happier if he didn't pick up any scents from either Lydia or Peter.

"Don't worry about Peter's super secret pack business," Lydia told Stiles smoothly, holding her mug in her lap. "He's just going to complain about Cora's new boyfriend. Honestly, he's so self important he could make a comment about the weather sound like breaking news."

Stiles watched in fascination as she rolled her pretty eyes in exasperation over her owner. Even though he'd lost his fear of Derek and they'd become fairly informal around one another, Stiles was still stunned over the lack of accord that Lydia afforded Peter. And the fact that Peter let her get away with it blew his mind even more.

This was the werewolf who'd been so judgmental of Stiles, after all, when Derek had chosen him. Peter still scared Stiles, but he seemed a little less terrifying when Stiles knew how whipped by Lydia he was.

Then again, Lydia was pretty terrifying in her own right.

"So, tell me, Stiles," she said, freeing a hand to flip her gorgeous hair over one shoulder. "How are you doing? Really?"

Stiles' brow wrinkled, wondering why she cared, but he shouldn't discount her like that. Just because she came off as very self possessed and distant that didn't mean that she might not care, even though she had only barely met him.

"I'm good," he said, and he really hoped that Derek was right about his voice sounding better. He offered her a small smile, even though he usually reserved those for Derek. But then again, he didn't usually interact with anyone who wasn't Derek. 

"Really good," he added, because he didn't know if Lydia realized how bad things had been for him before, but he did want her to believe that he was about a million times better now. "The Hale pack is--"

He broke off, not knowing how to finish that sentence. There were too many adjectives to choose from, and the Hale pack wasn't like any he had ever known before.

"Different," Lydia finished, and her smile looked genuine now. He could see the difference. "They're very different, and in this case that's a good thing."

Stiles nodded fervently.

"I wasn't born into the Hale pack," Lydia said, and that was all she said, but there was a darkness to her eyes that told Stiles that while her past might not have been as ugly as his, it probably wasn't good. "I'm incredibly lucky that Peter purchased me on my sixth birthday."

Stiles' brows rose at that. He'd thought _he'd_ been young when he'd been sold off at the age of ten. Six year old personal slaves were completely unheard of.

"There were... circumstances," Lydia demurred, pursing her lips, responding to his expression even though he hadn't said anything. "Let's not get into it."

Stiles nodded, because he certainly didn't feel like sharing his history with Lydia and would never expect her to tell him hers. 

"Peter is...." He didn't finish that thought because even though he could hear the low buzz of Derek and Peter's conversation in the kitchen, he couldn't be sure one or both of them wouldn't hear him. Also, he didn't think he could finish that sentence without offending Lydia.

"He's an asshole," she completed for him, smiling sharply, but her eyes were warm. "He's selfish and only really cares about himself and his family. But he really does care about his family. Even when he sometimes does his best to drive them crazy."

Stiles bit his lip to avoid smirking, glad to have this informed insight into Peter Hale's character. Derek seemed to be equal parts annoyed by and affectionate toward his uncle, so Stiles figured Lydia was probably one hundred percent correct in her assessment.

"He helped Derek buy me," he offered, shrugging, hands clasped in his lap.

"But not choose you," Lydia said, and it wasn't a question. Stiles didn't know what her point was, if she even had one, but he nodded because it was true. That had been all Derek. Though, to be fair, Peter hadn't argued against him as strongly as he might have done, considering how supremely unsuited Stiles had been to becoming Derek's personal slave.

"You're very lucky," Lydia said, voice soft and strangely gentle for her, and she gave Stiles an encouraging look. "But you already know that."

Stiles was actually curious as to her meaning. He knew he was lucky to belong to the Hale pack now. He was acutely aware of how lucky he was to be Derek's personal slave, for multiple reasons. But did Lydia understand that? Was her reasoning something other than his?

Before she could continue, before Stiles could even think about questioning her if she _didn't_ continue, Peter swanned into the living room.

"Come on, Lydia," he said imperiously, but he seemed relaxed and easy so Stiles didn't think Derek had pissed him off or anything. Of course, it remained to be seen whether or not Peter had pissed Derek off. "Let's head for home."

"And back to bed," she huffed, rising to her feet quickly and easily. Stiles kind of envied her this grace.

Derek followed Peter out of the kitchen, and he didn't look too upset; not any more than he had over Peter showing up in the first place anyway. He moved purposefully toward Stiles, but then Lydia sort of intercepted him, shoving her coffee mug into his hands. 

Even though he was a werewolf, Derek almost fumbled it, which would have been a disaster since it was half full, and he blinked at Lydia. He was clearly used to her, but Stiles didn't think anyone could really ever be used to Lydia. Except maybe Peter, who owned her.

"Thank you," she said primly, giving Derek a fierce grin.

"Oh, when you take that into the kitchen, could you grab our cream?" Peter said, giving Derek an arch look. "I forgot it."

Derek scowled at his uncle, and Stiles was ready to take the mug, to go and fetch the cream, because he was the slave here, but then Lydia was hooking a hand through his elbow and tugging him toward the door.

Stiles was so stunned by the fact that she was touching him that he followed without thought. And Peter had given Derek a little shove, which got him moving toward the kitchen before _he_ thought better of it.

It hadn't occurred to Stiles that Peter and his personal slave had been acting to deliberately separate him and Derek until he was at the door with Lydia shrugging into her jacket, and Peter leaned in close, his breath hot and moist over Stiles' ear, though he was careful not to touch him in any way.

"Talia thinks you can be trusted," he murmured, so quietly that Stiles thought Derek might actually not be able to hear him from the kitchen. "I'm not so sure but I want to trust you. Just know this; if you hurt him in any way, I'll do things to you that will make you long to be back in your previous owners' hands."

Stiles took an involuntary step away, startled but not actually frightened. And why wasn't he frightened? He believed Peter. He believed him so hard. But he never _would_ do anything to harm Derek, which meant he had nothing to worry about.

So instead of panicking, which would have been his response before he'd been purchased by Derek, he nodded fervently, meeting and holding Peter's eyes. Normally that was considered a challenge that no slave should present to a werewolf, but Stiles just hoped that Derek's uncle would be able to read the sincerity in his gaze.

Peter's eyes were hard and bright, but the crystalline blue softened after a moment, and he nodded in return, just a small bob of his head, and one corner of his thin lips quirked upward.

Derek came back out of the kitchen, not running but hurrying, and he gave Peter a deeply suspicious glare as he reeled Stiles into his arms, not incidentally pulling him _away_ from his uncle. 

"It was nice to meet you, Stiles," Peter said smoothly, as though he hadn't just been threatening him with dire damage. "I look forward to seeing more of you in the future."

Derek growled, deep and rumbling in his chest, but Lydia defused the moment by shoving Peter's coat at him with a bored expression, then plucking the small bottle of cream that Derek was still holding right out of his hand.

"Have a nice weekend," she said to both Derek and Stiles. "I'll make sure Peter doesn't bother you again."

Stiles was pretty sure that Lydia had deliberately separated Derek and himself so that Peter could covertly threaten him... but he didn't mind. If Derek had wanted him to do something similar, he'd have done whatever he could to help. Though he doubted he could have done it half as smoothly as Lydia had, he had to admit.

Stiles thought he liked Lydia, but she also terrified him. Peter, he was less certain about. He didn't think he was scared of him anymore but he definitely didn't trust him. Mostly he understood now why Derek found him to be so deeply annoying.

Then Peter and Lydia were gone, and Derek was dragging Stiles to the shower and then dressing him in "fresh" clothing, taken straight off his own body, once he'd marked him all over again.

Stiles understood. Lydia had touched him, and Peter had gotten very close there at the end. Derek had to reassert his claim.

It wasn't until they were curled together in their bed, Stiles tucked up against Derek's bare chest, Derek's mouth moving over most of his face, leaving trails of cooling saliva over his cheekbones and jawline, that Derek actually spoke.

"Peter's an asshole," he grouched, licking at the thin skin underneath Stiles' ear. He was hard and so was Stiles, but as usual they ignored it.

"He's not so bad," Stiles said, and he actually kind of meant it. He wasn't sure why he wasn't terrified of Peter, but he wasn't. Maybe it was because of Lydia.

Derek was silent for long minutes, and then he spoke again. "Peter was the one... who found me... who killed Kate...."

Stiles shifted closer, tightening his arms around Derek, even though he was the weak human and Derek was the werewolf with both bulk and near infinite strength on him. 

"You know about that?" Derek questioned hesitantly.

Stiles nodded. "Sort of. I was a little boy, but I heard. My dad was angry because some of the other slaves were happy. He said you were just a kid and didn't deserve what she did to you. And he was right."

Derek was silent so long that Stiles didn't think they were going to talk about it anymore. At least the change in subject had mostly killed both their erections, but Stiles felt bad that Derek probably felt bad. He rubbed a hand in hopefully soothing circles over the spot where Derek had that triskelion tattoo, between his shoulderblades.

"It felt like I deserved it," Derek finally said, his voice hoarse like Stiles' but for a different reason. Stiles let out a noise of distress and disagreement, but then Derek continued. "Mom and Deaton finally convinced me it wasn't anything I'd done that made Kate target me."

"Because it wasn't," Stiles said fiercely. He wanted to pull back and glare at Derek, but he couldn't bear the thought of moving away from him even an inch. "Did I deserve any of the bad things that happened to me before you bought me?" he challenged.

"No," Derek replied immediately, squeezing Stiles almost painfully close. Then his arms loosened a little, so that Stiles could breathe, and he sighed against Stiles' temple. "No, I know it wasn't my fault. But the things she did... the things she said... made it seem that way."

Stiles made a disgruntled sound, but before he could protest again, Derek was continuing. 

"Anyway. I was hurt, so badly. And then Peter crashed into the room. And he tore out her throat. And he cut me down and... held me together until Mom got there. So. Yeah. I know that he's a humongous asshole, but he loves me. And I love him."

"I understand," Stiles said. "It's okay. It's all okay, Derek."

Derek huffed, then shook his head. "All that said, Stiles, don't trust him. Okay? Because we all love him, but none of us trust him. And if he ever does _anything_ that makes you nervous or scared, you tell me."

Stiles pondered telling Derek about Peter's threat... but it hadn't made feel either nervous _or_ scared. Because Peter had only said he would damage Stiles if he hurt Derek, and if Stiles hurt Derek -- especially after what Kate had done to him when he'd been about Stiles' age -- then Stiles would deserve whatever punishment Peter wanted to mete out.

"I will," he said, and left it at that, and they spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon just cuddling in bed, with a break for lunch. Overall, it was a good weekend, even if it hadn't gotten off to a great start.

True to Lydia's promise, they didn't see Peter in their apartment again. Derek saw him at work, of course. And Stiles saw him again on the day Derek left some important paperwork at home and didn't have time to come back for it.

"Are you absolutely sure it's okay?" Derek questioned anxiously as he spoke to Stiles on the cell phone he'd been given early on. Derek was the only person Stiles ever talked to on it, but he texted back and forth with Laura and sometimes Talia included him in Hale pack group messages, when they involved something she felt he should know about.

"It's fine," Stiles said, trying to make his voice as firm as possible when his heart was pounding in his throat. He'd been out of his previous owners' homes occasionally, and he knew that Derek worked close, but it did made him anxious.

Still, he smelled like Derek, he had on the wristband inscribed with the Hale pack name, and he ended up making the trip completely safely.

It was worth it for the look of mingled pride and relief on Derek's face as he entered his office. Derek's day was jam packed with meetings, which was why Stiles had needed to bring him the papers even though they lived close, but he took two full minutes to hold Stiles close and reaffirm his scent on his skin with his hands and mouth.

"If you wait here, we can go home together," he suggested. Derek looked so hopeful, and Stiles hadn't had anything planned for the rest of his afternoon that couldn't be put off, so he dutifully nodded and smiled, then sat down on the sofa in the receptionist's area, since the next meeting Derek had was in his office.

And that was where Stiles was still sitting, playing a game on his phone, when Peter and his personal slave arrived, presumably returning from lunch.

Lydia took one look at the red hoodie Stiles was wearing and demanded the car keys from Peter. He handed them over with a bemused smile, told her to take care, and watched with poorly-disguised glee as she dragged her fellow personal slave out clothing shopping on the Hale pack tab.

Stiles couldn't stop her, he didn't even try, but he did text Derek to let him know where he was. This could either end badly or be fine; Stiles wasn't sure which. He did know he didn't trust Peter to communicate to Derek where he had vanished to.

Lydia's taste in clothing was much better than Peter's, Stiles was relieved to discover. Not that Peter dressed badly, but he radiated an aura of master douchebag and Stiles didn't want to duplicate that.

No, Lydia picked out nice sweaters and slightly oversized henleys, ones that suited Stiles better than Derek's shirts that he wore, even though it felt like blasphemy to acknowledge that fact. She favored skinny jeans, which Stiles wasn't so sure about, but they _did_ accentuate his long legs and "tight little ass" as Lydia put it.

"Mostly I wear Derek's clothes when we're at home," he told Lydia shyly, as they took a break for a soda, surrounded by way more bags than he was comfortable with belonging to him.

"Understandable," she said, nodding and looking understanding. "But that's no excuse for looking awful when you're out in public."

Stiles wanted to point out that this was his first time going out in public since Derek had bought him, and he also felt that the hoodie -- which he'd actually picked out himself -- was not awful. But he recognized that it would be useless to argue with Lydia.

Then she distracted and stunned him by continuing;

"It would certainly be handy if Peter were bonded to me the way you and Derek are bonded." She sipped her soda, fixing Stiles with a contemplative stare. "Though if we were, Peter would never admit it."

Stiles blinked at her, confused. He had no idea what she was talking about. He knew that sometimes werewolves bonded to one another... but he didn't know they could become bonded to a human. That didn't seem possible or likely. He'd have noticed by now if he and Derek were bonded, right?

"But think of it," Lydia said, blithely ignoring his stunned expression. "You could get Derek to do anything you wanted." She paused and pulled a sour face. "Of course, since you're bonded, you wouldn't ever ask Derek to do anything that he wouldn't do anyway. So I guess there's the drawback to that."

Stiles sat there, frozen, his brain working a mile a minute, trying to make sense of her words, but time and internal freak-out waited for no Lydia, to mangle a phrase.

"Come on," she said, rising and throwing out her drink, even though it was still mostly full. "We're going to get your hair styled before we have to return to the office."

Stiles' eyes widened, but there _still_ wasn't to be any saying "no" to Lydia once she had her mind set on something, and this was clearly nonnegotiable.

He had to admit... he did look better once his hair had been done. He'd almost been afraid he'd wind up with everything buzzed off again, but he should have known better, should have known he could trust Lydia in this. All the stylist did was trim the sides and back, cleaning things up, and making Stiles look a dozen times better than he could ever have expected.

"There," Lydia said, smiling and patting his upper arm through the soft cotton of the long sleeve teeshirt she'd insisted he change into. "Now you look like a young man instead of a hedgehog."

Stiles pulled a face at that, comfortable enough with her now that he wasn't afraid to show his emotions. Even though he couldn't really disagree with her.

"You're welcome," she said to Derek as she marched Stiles back into the office. 

Stiles had been anxious about how Derek would react, but he'd worried needlessly. Derek _was_ unhappy with the scent of Lydia and new clothing that Stiles had all over his body, and the scent of the stylist and hair products in his hair, but he nodded in approval at the haircut, and he didn't seem displeased with the new outfit Stiles had on, though Stiles knew of course that he'd prefer to see his slave in his own clothes at home.

Lydia had gotten Stiles back to the office at five minutes before four, so he and Derek got to go straight home. They dumped the bags of clothing and shoes in the entryway and went straight to the shower stall, Stiles shedding clothing along the way. He was just as happy to get out of them, because there were stray hairs from his trim caught in the collar of the shirt he'd been wearing, making him feel all itchy and the jeans really were tighter than he was used to.

This time was a little different, because Derek turned on the water first, confusing Stiles, and had him soap himself off while he washed Stiles' hair for him. Only once he was all rinsed off and clean, did Derek shut off the shower and then have Stiles kneel so that he could piss on him.

And this was the first time Derek had Stiles bow his head forward to he could mark him on the crown of his head, through his hair. Stiles understood, though, he thought fondly, as he kept his eyes and mouth shut even though most of the hot urine was streaming down his neck, around his jaw, and very little was near his face. The stylist had touched his hair, had put product in it, and now it needed to smell more like Derek than a stranger and perfumes.

Once Derek's bladder was empty he helped Stiles to his feet and turned the water back on, rinsing him off but not using soap or shampoo this time. Stiles was okay with that. The smell of Derek's piss was a little acrid, but not truly unpleasant, and it only lingered mildly on his skin once they were done. 

He got to mark Derek in return, the way they usually did, and then they exited the shower and as Stiles had told Lydia, he put on some of Derek's clothing and they went about their evening as normal. 

Overall Stiles felt that the shopping trip had been a success but he was very happy to have it over with and to be home with his owner.

In the week that followed, things went along pretty smoothly, Emissary Deaton's obligatory visit was a success, Stiles' weight was almost up to a healthy number, his voice was audibly improving....

And then one afternoon while he was home while Derek was at work, Stiles decided he wanted to make cookies and then discovered that they were out of butter.

The trip out he had made with Lydia must have given him a false sense of security, because Stiles had absolutely no qualms about heading to the little shop at the end of the block. 

It was the first time Stiles had been outside the apartment without explicit permission -- last time Derek had called him to bring the papers in to his office -- but Derek had said that it would be okay if Stiles made a quick trip. The doorman nodded at him on his way out, so Stiles assumed he'd let him back in. Besides, he had on his wristband from Alpha Hale, which he could show the doorman if he balked, and he _needed_ that butter if he wanted to have cookies baked by the time Derek got home.

It occurred to Stiles as he was checking out, handing over the credit card Derek had given him to use, that he could have asked Derek to pick some butter up on his way home today, and then they could have made the cookies together that evening... but then Derek would have been delayed getting home and neither of them would have wanted that. It was a simple enough matter for Stiles to run out and purchase some.

At least, it seemed simple... up to the point that Stiles was walking back toward the apartment, and just as he passed a seemingly empty alleyway, hard hands reached out and _grabbed_ him, yanking him off his feet and dragging him off the sidewalk, into the shadows that shouldn't have seemed as deep and dark as they did.

Stiles opened his mouth, ready to scream, even though no one would probably pay attention to a human slave, but before he could even fully inhale a broad hand was clapped across his lips and he wasn't able to let out more than an indignant squeak.

Hands were holding him tightly, more than just one assailant, then fumbling through his pockets and relieving him of his cell phone. Stiles was overwhelmed by the violence, and the stink of the hand pressing right underneath his nose, hating that his attackers were getting their scents all over him, and then he was lifted off his feet and the world spun around him and he landed sideways with a painful crash.

It wasn't on pavement or brick, though. There was a little padding, some awkward metal, things were poking him....

Then the sky slammed down and he was plunged into darkness, an engine roared, and Stile realized he'd just been thrown into the trunk of a vehicle.

The air was close and adrenaline was pulsing through his body. Fight or flight and he couldn't do either. Panic hovered around the edges of his mind, but Stiles staved it off with the thought of Derek.

He was being kidnapped for unknown reasons, and he wouldn't be there when Derek got home. They wouldn't be making dinner tonight, and Derek would have no way of finding out what had happened to him; he might think Stiles had run away!

Okay, no, that was going to make his panic worse. Stiles scrabbled blindly in the area he was in, trying to find something he could use, to pry his way out, to wield as a weapon. His breath was coming shorter and sharper.

His wrist caught on something, yanking painfully, and he whined in mingled fear and frustration, but in that moment it was as though a light had gone off, so bright he almost literally saw it in the darkness surrounding him. 

The wristband from Alpha Hale! 

Stiles wore it every time he left the apartment. He'd always looked on it as a mark of ownership, visual proof that he belonged to Derek. He'd almost forgotten what Talia had told him the evening that she had come to dinner and gifted it to him. He'd been lost in a welter of fear at the time, but he remembered... he remembered....

Unstrapping it, fingers fumbling in the dark as his hands shook and the vehicle he was in rumbled all around him, Stiles did his best to pry away the backing as she had directed. It was hard to get his nails hooking under it the way he needed to do, but he managed it.

There was a tiny red light blinking at him in the darkness, and Stiles breathed a small sigh of relief. The GPS seemed to be working, and now Derek would be able to find him.

Stiles contemplated what to do next. He was afraid that if he kept the wristband his captors -- whoever they were and whatever the hell they wanted -- would see it and take it from him the same way they'd taken his phone. But if he secreted it in the trunk he was in and they removed him from the vehicle, then maybe Derek wouldn't be able to find him.

In the end, Stiles shoved it in his pocket as the car came to an abrupt stop. His heart was racing, but a sense of calm settled over him nonetheless. He'd been stolen away, but Derek would find him. Derek wouldn't let anything happen to Stiles. This would be okay.

Stiles' sense of calm was short-lived, because once they arrived where they were headed, he was manhandled out of the trunk and into a big, empty warehouse. He supposed this whole thing could have been more cliched, but he wasn't sure how.

Especially when he was forced to his knees in front of a stereotypical crazy old man who gave him a wide leer, and said;

"So, you're Hale's new pet."

And Stiles realized that it was more likely than not that he'd been kidnapped as _bait_ \-- because a single human slave had no worth and of could this was about his owner, not him -- and that he had actually played right into that when he'd triggered the GPS in his wristband. His stomach plunged and he wished he'd destroyed it instead of turning it on. Shit.

He should have known, Stiles berated himself as the old man paced in a circle around him, his boots crunching on the dirty warehouse floor, his eyes dark and piercing. He made Stiles feel the way he had felt when he'd been standing naked in the warehouse, before Derek had found him and bought him. Or worse. The old man looked like he was judging Stiles and finding him wanting.

It didn't bother Stiles so much as it scared him. There was something not right in this fixed gaze, in the twist of this man's thin lips. He was both smug and disgusted, and Stiles was somehow sure just from the one sentence and a couple of minutes spent in his presence that this creep was insane.

An impression that wasn't banished in the slightest when he began speaking again.

"Never did think I'd see Hale with a personal slave, but I guess he just couldn't leave the humans alone in the end. His deviant nature just had to come to light."

Stiles frowned in confusion and not a little disapproval, wondering how this old man knew Derek, that he spoke of him so disrespectfully. And wrongly, because who was this asshole to call Derek a "deviant"? Stiles might not have known Derek long, but he felt he knew him _well_ , and Derek definitely wasn't a deviant!

It flashed across Stiles' head that this freak might somehow know that Derek was still marking Stiles daily, and having Stiles mark him back, but while that wasn't the norm by werewolf standards it was hardly to be considered _deviant_. Besides, this guy looked human, didn't have the physique or features of a wolf....

Not for the first time since he'd begun living with Derek, Stiles wished for a better sense of smell. Other than that, he was happy enough being human. He didn't like being a _slave_ , but Derek treated him well and thought of him as nearly an equal. He was considered family by the entire Hale pack. Stiles no longer hated werewolves with the overarching passion that he had done when he'd been bought by Derek, now that he knew there were _good_ packs like the Hales and wonderful individuals like Derek, Laura, and Alpha Hale, but that didn't mean he wanted to _be_ one.

Still, if he could improve one thing, it would be his nose. Because he'd like to be able to smell himself on Derek's skin. And if he had a stronger sense of smell he could tell whether or not this ranting old freak was human like him, or a wolf.

"Are you listening to me?"

Whoops. His captor had been monologuing and Stiles had been lost in thought. Derek didn't get angry when that happened, knew about Stiles' ADHD and was always patient, never minding repeating himself, but this guy wasn't Derek and he wasn't patient.

Stiles grunted as someone -- one of the other men surrounding him -- cuffed him in the head hard enough to knock him over. That was _nothing_ compared to what some of his previous owners had done to him, he thought scornfully, but he hadn't really missed getting pushed around and hit.

"What are you doing?" Stiles asked, even though he'd meant to wait the asshole out. His innate curiosity and lack of verbal filter, though, had always gotten him in trouble and were the cause of not a few of his scars. And he was frightened for Derek; wished he had never triggered the alert and GPS in his wristband.

Shit! The wristband! 

He didn't even pay attention to any reply he might have been getting, his mind flying in a panic to the wristband in his pocket and the probability that Derek was coming to his rescue _right now_ , and that he was walking into a trap.

If only there was some way to destroy the thing without his captors knowing. Then maybe he could run, and if they chased him they wouldn't be here when Derek arrived.... 

That scenario could only end badly for Stiles, of course, but it would be worth it if Derek was safe.

"What is _wrong_ with you?" the old guy was asking, squatting in front of Stiles where he was still sprawled on the filthy floor, propping himself up on one elbow. He stared at Stiles with those cold, greedy dark eyes and even though he hadn't touched Stiles physically, Stiles felt more frightened of this guy than he was of any of his previous owners. And that was saying something!

"Figures, Hale would bring home a defective slave," the old guy sneered derisively, standing and stepping back away from Stiles. "Bind him," he instructed, standing there and looming over Stiles, leaving enough room for his lackeys to work but keeping a close eye on the proceedings.

"What do you want with Derek?" Stiles asked, trying to ignore the hands that were grabbing at him and shoving him around, bringing him into a kneeling position again. They yanked his arms behind him and what felt like a zip-tie was pulled painfully tight around his wrists, binding them together, then the same done to his ankles.

"Are you going to listen to the answer this time?" the old guy asked sardonically, his dark, dark eyes fixed on Stiles with what looked like mingled glee and avarice.

Stiles glared, trying to pretend that he wasn't terrified. More for Derek than for himself, but his captor really scared him, on many different levels.

The old man snorted. "You're just here to act as bait," he said loftily, confirming Stiles panicked fear that this was the case. "You don't need to know any whys or wherefores."

"Boss." One of the lackeys who'd been binding Stiles' limbs, the one who _wasn't_ currently fastening his bound wrists to his bound ankles in a really awkward manner, the one that Stiles had thought had been feeling him up, came out of his pocket with the wristband.

Stiles had a mad moment of hope that they would destroy it and then throw him back in the car and drive away so that none of them were here when Derek arrived, even though he _knew_ that they actually _wanted_ to bring Derek here, but that hope was dashed when the old guy took the wristband, turning it in his evil fingers and leering an evil leer.

God, he was creepy. Stiles glared up at him, hating that he was kneeling before this asshole, hating that this asshole wanted Derek for unknown reasons, hated that he was going to _help_ this asshole get his hands on Derek, however inadvertently and totally against his will.

"Well, that makes this all so much easier," Stiles' captor grinned, and the smile sat on his face wrong, his mouth twisted, but it was the unholy light in his eyes that was really frightening. 

Forgetting or just not caring that his hands were bound to his feet, Stiles tried to lunge after the wristband as his captor shoved it into one pocket. Of course, this ended up with him pitching forward pretty much onto his _face_ , the plastic around his wrists biting painfully into his flesh as he thrashed, first in an effort to catch himself and then in a crazed, instinctive attempt to escape.

This seemed to set off the men surrounding him -- not the old man in charge, but the ones who had grabbed him off the sidewalk -- but he barely felt it as they kicked him, barely heard them as they laughed. That bastard wasn't allowed to just casually _take_ the wristband that had been a gift to Stiles from his alpha! The wristband that matched the one on Derek's wrist! It belonged to _Stiles_ and he wanted it back!

He was yelling some of this, garbled after a boot hit him in the mouth, splitting his lip, the words coming out tainted with blood, but then another boot -- or maybe the same one, he couldn't tell -- caught him right below the ribcage, stealing his breath away, and words were beyond him for a moment.

It was in this instant of agonized, enforced stillness that Stiles heard the roar of an engine that he recognized, and his entire body went cold and stiff with terror, his limbs jerking hard against his bonds.

Not fear for himself, but for Derek. Oh, God, Derek was here and that was exactly what this creepy old bastard wanted, and Derek had no idea he was walking into a trap, and Stiles was tied up and in pain, and he couldn't even catch his breath to yell a warning, he wouldn't be able to _do a single thing_ \--

"Hale is here," one of the lackeys confirmed, calling across the warehouse, and the grin that split the old man's thin lips made Stiles' heart feel as though it had stopped in his chest.

"Well, we've got what we wanted," the nasty old man growled, and then someone clipped Stiles upside the head where it was on the cold warehouse floor, much, much harder this time, and he knew no more.

***

Talia Hale thanked whatever deities might exist that _she_ was the one who arrived first at the scene of Derek's abduction, and that it wasn't Peter or a stranger.

Of course, she couldn't be sure it was where Derek had been abducted when she first got there, despite the deserted Camaro out front and the lack of her son's presence in the building, not until she'd revived Stiles and helped him work through the immediate panic attack he'd had.

All she had found had been an empty warehouse that had smelled of strange men, with a mingled scent that seemed as though it ought to be familiar but which wasn't, something weird that smelled _wrong_ somehow, but mostly the air was scented with human blood. The blood was Stiles' and he was curled alone, small and looking broken, limbs bound, unconscious on the dirty floor.

Stiles had abraded his wrists pretty badly where plastic zip-ties had been closed tightly around them. Talia sliced through those with her claws and did her best to survey the rest of the damage as she worked to revive the boy. 

There were marks of violence, Stiles' lip was split and the bridge of his nose was bruised, the entire lower half of his face covered in blood, but it was the goose-egg at the back of his skull that concerned Talia. 

She was reassured when Stiles woke fairly quickly, all things considered, but once he roused he was even more of a mess. Not because he had been bound and was bloodied, bruises already rising on his pale skin, his breath coming tight due to both physical and emotional distress. 

No, he was a mess because he was literally panicking over what had happened to his owner, to Derek, to Talia's son.

By the time Stiles had calmed somewhat from his panic attack and could speak well enough to let Talia know what had happened, Peter was there, pacing, filled with a cold and fierce rage. He was clearly all too ready to blame Stiles for what had happened, despite the fact that the boy was battered and had been tightly bound, had very clearly been used as a tool and nothing more.

Talia was forced to snarl at her younger brother over Stiles' bowed head to get him to stand down. She understood his strong emotions. She was feeling the same and more; after all it was her _son_ who had been kidnapped by unknown strangers. But Stiles was too clearly ready to blame himself for what had happened, and he was _not_ to blame for what had happened, and Talia needed the boy's head clear in order to get as much help in finding Derek as she could, as quickly as she could.

While she roused and calmed Stiles, Deaton arrived. Talia had summoned him the moment Stiles' wristband alarm had gone off, largely in his capacity as the pack emissary, but now it was his expertise as a doctor that was going to come into play. He knelt beside Stiles, to the other side of him from Talia, and quickly but carefully examined the human.

"He'll be all right," he informed Talia softly, causing Stiles to flinch and whimper as he palpitated the boy's torso carefully. "But it will take a while before he's fully recovered."

Talia nodded sharply but even though she did care about Stiles and his health and safety, she was far more concerned with _where Derek was_.

Peter had arrived independently, before Talia could contact him, and Talia wondered how he'd found them. Once Peter had calmed enough to speak rationally she asked him, because now was not the time for secrets, and Peter told her that Derek had gone tearing out of the office so quickly that he'd known something had been wrong. But that didn't explain how her brother had gotten _here_ , to an abandoned warehouse, and Peter didn't offer any explanation for that part of it.

Talia strongly suspected that Peter had Derek's car bugged, since the Camaro was right outside, the driver's side door still hanging open. And while she didn't approve of that _at all_ , she could understand the paranoia that might have led Peter to do so, if that was indeed what he had done. 

Well, Talia would have labeled it paranoia previously. But here they were, Derek stolen away from her again, and maybe it had been more a healthy amount of caution on Peter's part.... Though it hadn't been his place to do so, if that was indeed what he had done.

Peter had settled into a white-hot rage that was no longer aimed at Derek's personal slave anymore, and Stiles was still only a thin hair away from panicking again as the rest of the pack arrived. Not the entire pack, but most of its adult members, because whatever was going on, Talia intended on having the proper back-up.

But first she needed to find her son. She needed to know _where he was_ before she could rescue him.

"Stiles," she knelt before him, gripping his face in both her hands, carefully because of the damage he'd taken, gentle because he was panicking, but firm because her son was missing. 

"Stiles, sweetie," she said, using her alpha tone. "Calm down. I need you to take a deep breath, because you're going to have to help us find Derek."

"But I don't remember anything," he said tearfully, his cheeks white and damp, tears streaking through the blood Deaton hadn't managed to completely wipe away, hands clenching in his lap, knuckles white and bony. "I was zoned out so I don't even know if the nasty old man said anything that we could use as a clue!"

"Hush," Talia commanded, before Stiles could dissolve into useless sobbing. She understood his powerful emotions and his feeling of helplessness; she was experiencing the same. Add to that the fact that Stiles had been used as bait to lure Derek and was inclined to blame himself for that, even though it wasn't his fault, and it was a wonder she was getting _any_ rational words out of him. But now wasn't the time to give in to guilt and fear.

Derek had been taken from Talia Hale once before. She was _going_ to get him back again, before this stranger could do as much damage to her baby boy as Kate Argent had done.

That thought triggered something in her head, and she spoke with some urgency. "Stiles, tell me again what the man looked like."

Stiles shivered and raised his chin, visibly pulling himself together. "He was old. Creepy. He wanted Derek."

"No, I mean what did he _look_ like."

"Like an evil potato with a skull for a face," Stiles answered promptly. Peter snorted, but Talia felt her hackles rise as Stiles continued, "His eyes were really dark and they looked like a lizard or... or something empty, something that was completely cold and cruel inside."

"Sound familiar?" Talia asked Peter, her lips feeling numb as she pressed them tightly together, her fangs itching to drop.

Peter frowned for a moment, looking confounded, then the mention of dark eyes must have processed, or maybe Stiles' somewhat fanciful description swam together in his mind, because he snarled and wolfed out a little.

"Gerard!"

"Who?" Stiles asked, his voice quavering, his eyes filled with fear but his expressions firm with determination. Talia knew this human boy would do whatever it took to help her get her son back... and she was _going_ to need his help.

"That's Kate Argent's father," Deaton replied softly, speaking for her because Talia was beyond words for the moment, filled with terror for her son in the hands of that maniac and a rage that met and matched Peter's. "He blames the Hales for the death of his daughter."

"As he should, because I killed her," Peter said sharply. "But he won't admit that the wrongdoing was hers in the first place. And he blames Derek rather than me."

"But Derek was the victim!" Stiles cried, clearly outraged, and through the fear and anger overwhelming her Talia felt a surge of affection for the newest Hale family member and respect for how much he cared about her son. "How can he blame someone who was being tortured? How can he blame someone who was still tied up when you arrived to save him!"

"Did Derek tell you that?" Peter asked, so surprised he was shaken out of his rage a little, his features growing smooth again.

Stiles nodded, his chin crumpling, but his mouth remaining steady. "You saved him," he said simply. "He said. But now he's been taken again and we need to find him and save him again!"

Talia seconded that, vigorously. 

"What about the GPS wristband?" Stiles asked, seeming not even to notice his fat lower lip in his urgency, the words spilling out of him with a wild desperation, a little garbled by his injury but easy enough to make out. "He put it in his pocket before Derek got here!"

"It's been destroyed," Talia replied unhappily. "I've already checked, and while the alarm triggered and the GPS led me here, the trail ends at this warehouse. I'm not sure what he did or when, but it's not something we can use."

Stiles looked on the verge of tears again, and Talia understood but she didn't have time to help him through another breakdown. 

Unfortunately, knowing that it was Gerard Argent who had taken Derek didn't do much to help her figure out _where_ the insane old human might have taken her son. Not when he was canny and would have planned this out, not when he had essentially vanished as soon as the investigation into the events of Derek's kidnapping and Kate's death had been completed. But it _did_ make it more urgent that she _find_ Derek, because who knew what Gerard had planned for her son.

That explained the slightly familiar smell in the warehouse, Talia thought fleetingly, frowning and raising her head, scenting the air around Stiles, even though she'd already discovered as much as she could, and now all there was to smell was Stiles' blood, the lingering traced of herbs and medication that clung to Deaton, and her pack.

She'd never come face to face with Gerard, all of his accusations coming through a third party. But the smell of Kate had clung to both Derek and Peter after Derek had been rescued, until they could both bathe it away, and since Kate had been Gerard's daughter there was a certain amount of similarity.

There was something... different... something _off_ about the scent that lingered in the warehouse. Talia could still swear she smelled a werewolf, even though Stiles was fairly certain that all of the men who had kidnapped him and roughed him up had been human, and the scents clinging to his clothes and skin seemed to confirm that.

"Stiles." Peter squatted in front Stiles, his features intent and focused now, and Talia let him speak because she might not trust him but she trusted that he wanted exactly what she wanted in this moment; to find Derek and bring him safely home.

Stiles blinked at Peter, startled out of his potential panic attack, his chest still heaving and his eyes swimming with unshed tears, but he was listening.

" _You_ can find Derek," Peter surprised everyone by saying.

"What?"

"What?" Talia seconded, brows rising. Deaton remained silent, watching intently.

Peter didn't even glance at Talia, keeping his attention focused on the human boy before him. Talia was beside Stiles to one side, Deaton on the other with his first aid kit, and Peter was crouched before him, leaning in close.

"The bond between you and Derek," Peter said urgently. "It's better than any GPS. If you can focus on that deeply enough, you can follow it right to Derek."

"Peter," Talia began, because she had been tossing around the idea that there was a bond between her son and his personal slave, but she didn't think it was something with enough reality and strength to do as Peter was suggesting, but then she saw Deaton nodded solemnly over Stiles' head, and stopped. Not that either Peter or Stiles were listening to her anyway.

"There's.... Are you.... Lydia said.... But I didn't think....."

"The bond is real," Peter said decisively, interrupting Stiles' sputtering attempts at disclaimer, his crystal blue gaze holding Stiles' dark brown eyes, his hands resting on the boy's shoulders. "It's definitely there and it's deep and you _can_ use it to help us get Derek back."

Stiles froze, gaze turning inward, but Talia felt some hope wing in her chest. If Peter was right -- and Deaton seemed to think he was -- then they had a chance. There was a very good chance that they could find Derek _now_.

"Stiles," Talia said urgently, drawing his attention. "Stiles, if Peter is right then we can go and get Derek. Are you willing to help?"

"Of course," Stiles answered quickly and without the slightest hint of uncertainty. "But how can I...?"

Talia help up her hand, flicking out her claws. "I'm going to have to put these in your neck, right at the base of your skull, and you're going to have to allow me into your head, because this is something that we need to do together. Can you do that? Will you allow me?"

Stiles' heart skipped when he saw her claws, and his eyes were huge, fresh fear rising off of him, but again he didn't hesitate for an instant.

"Yes," he nodded, reaching up and gripping her wrist for a moment, meeting her gaze steadfastly. "Do whatever it takes to help Derek. Even if it kills me, we need to get him back."

"Oh, sweetie," Talia soothed, touched but also a little disconcerted by his fervency. "No, nothing like that. It'll hurt, I won't lie. It'll probably hurt a _lot_. But I'll be as gentle as I can and you'll be fine, and then we'll go and get Derek."

"Less talk, more claws," Peter snapped, and Talia understood his urgency, but she still took a moment to glare at him. As much as she needed her son back in her arms, needed him rescued from insane Gerard Argent and whatever the bastard was doing to him, there was nothing wrong with taking a moment to offer Stiles a little reassurance.

If Stiles and Derek were as deeply bonded as Peter was claiming, then that would have been what Derek would have wanted and needed her to do for Stiles.

"Please hurry," Stiles said, echoing Peter's sentiment, his eyes still wide, and since he seemed to be emotionally prepared, and since Derek's life and health and mental well-being were hanging in the balance....

Talia did.

***

Derek roused from unconsciousness with a horrible feeling of deja vu. This was the second time in his life that he'd awakened chained upright to a wall, head reeling with the aftereffects of wolfsbane, his muscles spasming with the shocks of electricity that were being pumped through his body.

This was a place he hadn't ever wanted to be, not the first time, and to be perfectly honest he'd never thought he'd experience it again; outside his nightmares, anyway.

This wasn't exactly like it had been when he'd been captured by Kate, but it was close enough that Derek's brain went into a state of panic before he'd even fully processed where he was and what was going on around him.

Not that processing these things made it any better.

It was hard to focus with his senses confused by wolfsbane. His eyes were blurry and his ears were ringing. He felt as though his brain was packed in thick cotton, and each thought seemed to take forever to make its way though his mind. Even the panic he was feeling was muted, as though he was feeling the emotions from a distance.

"Ah, the monster awakes."

Derek groaned, rolling his head on a rubbery neck -- pretty much the only part of his body that he was able to move -- and he tried to blink hard enough to clear his foggy eyesight so that he could see who was speaking to him.

He didn't need to see to _know_ who his captor was, though. His mother and Deaton had tried to keep Derek as much separate from the fall-out of what Kate had done to him as they could, but he knew the sound of Gerard Argent's voice.

Derek sighed and just paused there, eyes closed, head tipped back, exhausted by this one small movement and the realization that the man who blamed _him_ for the death of his daughter was the one who had captured him and was now holding him, no doubt intending to inflict all sorts of tortures on him in the name of twisted vengeance.

Nothing Gerard could dole out was worse than not knowing where Stiles was, though, so Derek forced his numb, swollen tongue to move, his dry throat crackling as he choked out;

"Where's Stiles?"

"You mean your new little fucktoy?" Gerard sneered, and Derek's brows creased in a frown, the words seeming nonsensical in his ears. 

"He's not... Stiles isn't...." Words were hard, and Derek wasn't even sure they were coming out as actual words.

Gerard snorted, and Derek pried his eyes open, squinting so that he could see. He felt chilled through and yet feverish at the same time, and he could feel cold sweat beaded at his temples and trickling down his spine. Wolfsbane poisoning was no fun at all, and Derek really could have done without experiencing it a second time. The electricity cramping his muscles wasn't helping, either.

"Oh, please, your scent was all over him. Marking him just like the animal you are."

Derek blinked stupidly, trying to process this. Gerard was expressing scorn for Derek as a werewolf, and yet, unless another werewolf had _told_ him that Derek was marking Stiles....

The half-formed question that was in his mind was answered when Gerard's pinched face swam into focus and Derek could see his eyes glowing a fierce and unmistakable red.

"What?" Derek asked, and even though it came out more as a pained cough than anything else, Gerard answered him anyway.

"Yes, I'm an alpha now. Not born but created and all the stronger for it."

Derek huffed, too pained and weary to fully express his scorn at this statement, but it was there nonetheless. He didn't buy into the social stigma that bitten werewolves generally suffered, but they definitely weren't _stronger_ than those born to it. Sometimes they might _seem_ more powerful to the uninformed because they lacked the control that born werewolves possessed, coming to their powers after having grown up used to being weaker. But they weren't all that different from Derek and his family, and they definitely weren't stronger or more special.

However, Gerard _was_ an alpha, which meant that technically he was stronger than Derek; especially since Derek was poisoned and pumped full of electricity at the moment. How Gerard had pulled that off, when he'd been one-hundred percent human last Derek had heard of him, was beyond Derek's ability to guess, or even to ask at this point, but he honestly didn't really care.

It meant bad things for him and he still didn't know where Stiles was; that was all that really mattered.

"You can't tell me you're not fucking your pretty little slave-boy," Gerard was saying, completely ignoring Derek's attempt at denial, though if he'd bothered to listen to Derek's heartbeat he'd have known Derek was telling the truth, as incoherent as it had been. "Guess you're just a deviant who has sex with humans."

Derek snarled. He wasn't sure if it was that the panicked adrenaline flooding his system slowly burning away some of the effects of the wolfsbane, if it was rage at the oblique mention of Kate, or if it was the mention of Stiles, but his head cleared slightly and he found himself able to think and speak a little more lucidly. And he spoke his mind without hesitation. 

"What your daughter did to me wasn't sex," he said, slurring a little but putting the words together in the right order and speaking the truth. "It was an assault. It was rape."

Gerard scoffed, waving a dismissive hand, and Derek was starting to understand how Kate had ended up being such a twisted individual, if this was who she'd grown up with as a parent and role model.

Kate's brother and Gerard's son, Chris Argent, wasn't like this, Derek mused blearily. He'd met with Chris a couple of times after he'd been rescued from Kate, and had found him to be honorable and respectful. 

Chris Argent hadn't tried to deny what Kate had done, he hadn't tried to defend her actions. He'd been upset and sad that his sister was dead, but once he'd ascertained that Derek's story had been the truth, he'd apologized on behalf of his family and done what he could to make reparations.

He had been in a position to do so because even though he was human he worked for and with the Police Department, doing the rare things that the werewolves couldn't do and just generally being a liaison between the races. When they needed a sympathetic face to question a human witness, when there was wolfsbane or mountain ash to be handled, when there was anything that a werewolf couldn't do but a human could, Chris Argent and the other humans in the department were called in.

Also, human Police Department members could carry wolfsbane bullets, which were occasionally necessary. That was a _huge_ and dangerous responsibility, and for Chris to be afforded it meant that he'd been tested and vetted over and over by the authorities. It also meant that he was pretty much the opposite kind of person his sister had been and his father was.

Derek wished Chris was here. Maybe he could talk some sense into Gerard. Or, failing that, he could shoot his father with a wolfsbane bullet, since he was evidently a werewolf now.

"Please," Gerard was scoffing, pacing back and forth before Derek, his eyes still bright and fixed on Derek's face, though he wasn't wolfing out or shifting into his full alpha form. Derek was pretty sure he had enough wolfsbane in his system that Gerard couldn't actually touch him, but he could rant and rave, and he would be able to assault Derek if he used tools of some sort or brought in a human lackey to do it.

"Kate was beautiful," Gerard continued. As if _that_ was a consideration, as though Derek wouldn't have been disgusted by her pawing at him simply because she was attractive. Also, it was supremely creepy to hear Gerard say that with such relish. Derek grimaced, and it was only partially because of the pain he was feeling from the wolfsbane in his body.

"So are you planning on raping me too?" he forced himself to ask, still slurring but trying to keep his captor engaged. The longer Gerard talked, the less time he would spend hurting Derek. "Because I gotta say, the idea of that is even _more_ repellant than what Kate did to me. And I hadn't thought that was possible."

This declaration sent Gerard off into a vitriol-riddled rant about how Derek should have been flattered by Kate's attentions -- which was insane -- and how all wolves should be put down at birth -- which was even _more_ insane, especially since Gerard was a werewolf himself now -- but Derek tuned out and just let his head fall back again, closing his eyes wearily.

Kate had hurt him as much with her words as with her actions, and she'd evidently inherited this talent from her father -- as well as her psychopathic tendencies -- but Gerard just wasn't getting to Derek the way Kate had done. He wasn't able to.

Because Derek wasn't a skinny seventeen year old anymore. He was older, wiser, and he was stronger physically and -- more importantly -- emotionally. He had his mother and he had Stiles. He had Laura and Deaton and Peter. He had his pack. He might be the only one chained up here, but he wasn't alone in this, and he never would be alone. No matter what Kate had done, no matter what Gerard might do, Derek would always have his family.

Of course, he would feel a lot better if he was with his family now, Derek thought foggily, feeling a little floaty as the adrenaline faded and the wolfsbane and electricity overwhelmed him again. And he hadn't found out from Gerard if Stiles was alive or--

No! He wasn't even going to think of any other possibility! In his haze of drugged pain, Derek let his mind wander even further, and it might be his imagination, but he was pretty sure he could find a place inside himself, deep in his mind, deep in his heart, where Stiles had made a home... and that place was beating strong and vigorous.

So if it wasn't all a wolfsbane-induced hallucination, Derek felt he could be certain that Stiles was okay. And that made him feel a million times better, even though he was still poisoned, chained to a wall, and being jolted with electricity that combined with the wolfsbane to keep him weak as a newborn.

When the GPS alarm had gone off on his wristband, Derek was pretty sure he'd felt his heart stop in his chest. He knew that Stiles wouldn't have triggered it without good cause, and the thought of Stiles having _any_ cause to trigger it had sent Derek running out of the building where he worked in a complete panic.

He'd followed the signal to an old warehouse, had jumped out of the Camaro, had _just_ had time to think that he probably should have contacted his mother instead of rushing over by himself, when something had hit him and then he had hit the ground in turn.

It had probably been a wolfsbane-laced bullet or dart, he thought, still ignoring Gerard as he worked himself into a frenzy, roaring about wolves and Kate, and Derek _really_ wasn't listening but he didn't think he was missing out. 

Gerard would have _had_ to have humans working with him, in order to get Derek pumped full of something so deadly to werewolves then chained up here. Derek wondered if they'd known Gerard wasn't human as well. He wondered if they were still around or if Gerard had disposed of them once he had what he wanted. He didn't really _care_ , but he wondered.

Well, if there was _any_ chance of anyone coming to rescue him, Derek would hope that his hypothetical rescuers would face less resistance rather than more. Though he wasn't sure anyone would be able to _find_ him to rescue him....

And then the rescue happened, as unexpected and sudden as the alarm in Derek's wristband going off while he'd been at work.

His head was foggy with wolfsbane and his ears were humming with the sound of Gerard snarling and roaring, so Derek kind of thought his brain was indulging in some wishful dreaming when the door of the room they were in flew open and his mother, Peter, and Chris Argent slammed in, followed closely by Deaton and Stiles.

Derek began to hope that it _wasn't_ a hallucination when Gerard spun, snarling at the intruders, which meant that _he_ saw and heard them too.

"Derek!" Stiles cried, and his big brown eyes were all Derek could see for a moment, before Gerard hulked up in the way, shifting into his alpha form. It was as ugly and twisted as he was, Derek took a moment to note, before his mother roared back at Gerard, shifting seamlessly into her wolf-form, and moved to attack.

Things were a blur at that point, Derek's brain still overcome with wolfsbane but trying desperately to parse events. 

Chris Argent had his gun out and was yelling, though Derek couldn't tell if it was at his mother or at Chris' father. Possibly both, and Derek _really_ hoped he wouldn't try taking a shot when it might hit Talia.

Deaton was holding Stiles back, since he seemed to want to run across the room to Derek's side despite the tangle of snarling, fighting alpha werewolves between them. 

Peter was sliding smoothly around the walls, making his way to Derek, though his eyes were glowing, fixed on the battle, his fangs dropped and gnashing.

Derek wished it was Stiles who was coming to his side, though he could understand why Deaton was holding him back from doing so. And he was grateful that his uncle was coming for him, again. He might not always like Peter, but he loved him and he loved that he could trust Peter to do his best to save him.

Then, for a moment, Gerard had the upper hand. Talia had been an alpha longer and was a mother fighting for her child, but Gerard was trying to get revenge for the death of his child and he was also completely batshit _insane_ , and that might have been what gave him that extra burst of power as he sent Talia tumbling across the room, her body slamming into a wall hard enough to momentarily daze her.

Derek watched in disjointed but very real terror as Gerard, still in his hulking alpha form, roared and then headed right for Stiles. Not Talia, not Derek, not even Peter who was getting closer to Derek, but _Stiles_!

Derek half expected that Deaton would do something. He half expected that Chris would shoot his father, though it wouldn't be enough to slow him in time and so he also half expected to see Stiles be torn to shreds, his blood smeared all over Gerard's claws and fangs and the floor and walls. Derek was pretty sure he screamed, in fear and panic and _nonoNO_!

But then, before anyone else could act, even Deaton, Stiles had stepped _toward_ the charging alpha werewolf, his hand moving as though he had flung something, and Gerard just... _stopped_. He froze in his tracks, about five feet from Stiles and Deaton, flung back his head, howled, then shrank back into his original form; that of an old man with silver hair and deeply-lined, cruel features.

Derek blinked, thinking that he was succumbing to the wolfsbane, but as Peter reached him and shut off the electricity, then tore the chains loose, getting Derek down and easing him onto the floor, pulling him into his arms for a second time, like when he'd rescued him from Kate, Derek realized that it wasn't his sight that was getting blurry, that there really _was_ something, a dark, glittering cloud swirling around Gerard.

As Talia joined Peter at his side, Derek stared, still in pain, still dazed and dizzy from the wolfsbane poisoning, but transfixed.

He didn't know what Stiles was doing... but whatever it was it was working. He was actively saving Derek's life, and possibly the lives of his mother, uncle, and the pack emissary as well.

But what _was_ Stiles doing?

***

Peter was a proud man, he could admit to that fact. But he wasn't too proud to admit that he was stunned into a state of disbelief as he watched Stiles surround Gerard Argent with a swarm of mountain ash evidently controlled by the power of his _mind_.

Which, Peter hadn't even suspected that Stiles had a spark. Maybe that was what had attracted Derek to him at first, though Peter still tended to think that their bond had been at work from that first moment. But maybe the spark accounted for the bond, because werewolves didn't usually have a mating bond with humans unless there was something else going on....

Well, a spark would definitely be that something else.

All of them were frozen, watching as the cloud of dark, glistening mountain ash encircled Gerard, then began to tighten, flying down his throat and into his nose and eyes, bringing him to his knees with a garbled howl, black tears streaming down his pallid cheeks, black froth collecting around the edges of his gaping mouth.

Peter hated the man as much as he had hated the man's daughter, Kate, and he'd torn Kate's throat out without hesitation. He hated them both more than he'd ever hated anyone or anything else on the face of the Earth. But as a werewolf himself, seeing this spectacle caused him to wince slightly. Not in sympathy, but seeing _anyone_ so completely and thoroughly riddled with a deadly substance was disconcerting.

Stiles was staring mulishly at Gerard, unmoved by his clear suffering. He didn't make any grand gestures, his hands rested at his sides, his eyes were clear, his lips pressed together, but it was obvious that he was the one controlling the mountain ash, and it was equally clear that he had zero intention of stopping in what he was doing.

Deaton was still standing behind Stiles, watching the proceedings with a faint look of surprise, and Peter was pretty sure the pack emissary had been the one to give Stiles the mountain ash, but he evidently hadn't meant for the human boy to use it the way he was doing now.

Chris Argent, whom Talia had contacted while they'd been on their way to rescue Derek, and who'd insisted on being included despite it being his father, _because_ of it being his father, was watching, eyes wide, jaw slack. He didn't seem horrified so much as shocked, but Peter just hoped he wouldn't turn against any of them -- Stiles or the other Hale pack members -- when it was so clear that his father was the one who was in the wrong here.

And since when had Gerard been a werewolf, much less an alpha?

Well, however he had become a werewolf, that fact was definitely working against him now. In a big way.

The swirling ash was still spiraling inward and Gerard's howls had become hoarse screaming. He was on the floor now, spewing black from every orifice, and he seemed somehow smaller, shrunken. Peter watched with mingled horror and satisfaction as he writhed, clearly in agonizing pain.

It seemed to go in forever, but in actuality it only lasted about thirty seconds from beginning to end, before Gerard ran out of air -- or, more likely, his lungs became lined with a layer of ash -- and he collapsed.

Stiles moved more quickly than anyone expected, snatching the wolfsbane gun out of Chris Argent's hand and firing five bullets into Gerard's head without any hesitation.

"Hey!" Chris exclaimed, maybe not very professionally, and definitely not fittingly considering Stiles had just _killed the man's father_ , but the exclamation was definitely heartfelt. "Give me that!" He snatched his gun back, but Stiles was already in motion, leaping over Gerard's dead body and the mess he'd made out of the man's head, making his way directly toward them.

"Derek!"

Deaton followed, leaving Chris to check his father's body for signs of life -- not that there would be any at this point -- and things were a little chaotic around Derek for several minutes, before they got sorted out.

This was made harder by the fact that Talia, Peter, and Stiles had all latched onto Derek and seemed to have no intention of letting go, while Deaton _needed_ to get at him in order to check him over for damage. Deaton had to speak quite sharply, and Talia compromised, in a manner of speaking, by taking hold of Stiles and clinging to him in place of her son, which had the side-effect of keeping him from sticking to his owner like a burr.

Not that Peter blamed the boy. It was beyond evidently now that he'd not only been right about the bond between Derek and his personal slave, but that it was stronger than he'd ever thought. After all, with the aid of Talia's alpha powers, the bond had been what had led them right here, as fast as their vehicles could move.

That wasn't Peter's first concern, though. His first concern, naturally enough, was his nephew.

He was vaguely aware of Chris Argent making some calls behind him, sounding a little shaken but doing reasonably well at his job when it was his father's body that was cooling on the floor. But most of Peter's attention was on Derek and Deaton, and he didn't relax until Deaton declared that Derek was going to be okay.

"The wolfsbane dosage was light," Deaton said, reassuring all four of them at once. "Gerard didn't intend to kill Derek; at least not right away. So it was just enough to incapacitate him for a while."

"It felt like a strong dose," Derek grumbled, but he already looked better. He was slumped against the wall with Peter kneeling to one side and Deaton before him, and now that the Hale emissary had declared that he would live and heal, Peter expected Stiles to tackle him, to tuck himself under Derek's chin, but he remained where he was, practically vibrating but unmoving. And Talia was no longer holding onto him, so that wasn't what was stopping him.

"That was the wolfsbane in combination with the electricity he had pumping through you," Deaton explained patiently, even though none of them really needed a lecture right now. "You'll be weak for a while, make no mistake. But you'll be fine."

"You can't whip up an antidote?" Peter asked, maybe more snappish than he meant to sound, but after what Kate had done to Derek, he hated to see his nephew suffer even a little.

"Perhaps," Deaton replied calmly, glancing over at the table set in a corner, one that reeked of wolfsbane even from here, where Gerard had surely cooked up whatever concoction he had used on Derek. Or, rather, someone working for him would have done, since Gerard had been a werewolf. 

"But at this point," Deaton continued, "That would actually put _more_ strain on Derek's body and it will be less harmful to let him work it out on his own. Since his life isn't in danger, I choose that as the better option."

"Hmph." Peter saw Deaton's point, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

Talia nodded, kneeling gracefully to the other side of Derek from where Peter was and giving her son a warm hug, but Stiles simply hovered, looking more upset, not less, and he was holding himself well away from the huddle of Hales at the base of the wall. Peter had no reason to be fond of the boy -- except in that he knew Derek cared about him and was bonded to him, of course -- but something felt wrong, to see him keeping himself separate from Derek like this. Especially when he had just taken down and killed an alpha werewolf for Derek's sake.

This was such a marked difference from the way Stiles had previously been willing to brave his way through the middle of an alpha battle to reach Derek, that Peter wasn't the only one who noticed or who wondered what was going on.

"Stiles?" Derek questioned, fingers twitching toward his personal slave, blinking rapidly as he tried to clear his eyes. "You okay?"

"Stiles," Talia prodded, turning her attention from Derek to the boy, though she kept her hands on her son, of course. "What is it?"

Stiles knelt, a little jerkily -- obviously still feeling the effects of the beating he'd taken -- and turned so that he was facing Talia directly. He kept his head down, smelling of both triumph and hopelessness at once. It was a strange combination, but then, he was a strange boy.

"Alpha Hale," he intoned, his husky voice soft but clear. "I remand myself into your custody, to be delivered into the hands of the authorities or to allow you to carry out my execution yourself."

"What?" Derek exploded upward, then groaned and collapsed again, Peter huffed a sigh of fondness and exasperation, placing a hand on Derek's shoulder and doing what he could to drain away some of Derek's pain.

"And why do you feel that this is necessary?" Talia asked calmly, keeping her head despite the clear distress Derek was feeling. But she was an alpha, and it was kind of in the job description that she stay cool and take charge.

"I'm a human," Stiles explained, head still lowered, hands flexing on his knees. "One that has killed a werewolf. So according to the law, my life is forfeit."

Peter huffed again, this time in annoyance. He didn't have the patience to list for Stiles all the reasons this was _stupid_ , but fortunately for him -- and for Derek, who let out a low whine of distress -- Talia was both willing and able.

"Sweetie, you did what you were forced to do in defense of both your owner and your alpha," she informed Stiles, leaving Derek's side and moving to grasp Stiles' abraded, bruised wrists in her capable hands. "Add to that the fact that you have a spark and are bonded to a werewolf, not to mention that Gerard almost certainly committed multiple crimes against at least one werewolf in order to become an alpha, and you're completely untouchable."

"Bonded?" Derek croaked, because of course _that_ was the part that he focused on. Peter grinned and shook his head.

Stiles was staring at Talia with budding hope. Beyond the small group crouched around Derek, Chris was dealing to the authorities who had arrived, explaining as much as could be explained. Peter didn't envy him this task, but he couldn't summon any real sympathy for someone whose family members had been so twisted and had hurt Derek for what really boiled down to _no reason_ , over and over.

"What _did_ you do to Gerard?" Peter asked, because this question had gotten lost in a the chaos and confusion, but it was one that really, really needed to be answered.

Stiles sucked his split lip into his mouth and Peter could see the black veins in his sister's arms as she drained the boy's pain. "It was mountain ash," Stiles explained. "Emissary Deaton gave it to me in the car on the way here. He said... he said it was something that could be used against werewolves."

Stiles' gaze flickered to Deaton uncertainly. Deaton was nodding in agreement, but then he raised his brows at the human slave.

"Mountain ash is generally used as a repellant," he told Stiles, and Peter squinted at the pack emissary suspiciously, because shouldn't Deaton have told Stiles that when he'd _given_ him the mountain ash? "It's not really something that can be weaponized," Deaton continued, his tone mild but his eyes bright and fixed on Stiles' face. "I've never seen that before."

"Oh." Stiles fidgeted. He glanced from Deaton to Talia. "Did I.... Should I not have used it the way I did? Did I do something wrong?"

Peter scoffed, because that was a ridiculous concern. Though he probably shouldn't be surprised by Stiles being ridiculous at this point.

"You did something amazing," Deaton corrected. "Something that should have been impossible. Before today I'd have said that it _wasn't_ possible to use mountain ash the way you did. But since you didn't know better you simply believed, and your belief enabled to you to save us all. If you hadn't acted as you did, as quickly as you did, Gerard might well have claimed more than one Hale life today."

Peter felt Derek shudder at this, and he was suddenly impatient, wanting to get Derek out of this dank basement and home. Even if that meant Derek kicking Peter out, because he was probably going to want to spend time alone with Stiles once they were finally safe in their shared apartment.

"I'm sorry," Stiles said, speaking to Derek now, and as Talia released her grip on his wrists, he crawled forward, creeping almost hesitantly into arms that opened readily for him. "I know the kill was yours to make, but I couldn't... I couldn't let you be forced to make that choice, Derek. You're a good person, and I couldn't let Gerard take that away."

Peter raised his brows. He'd thought that Stiles grabbing Chris' gun and shooting Gerard had been done in the heat of the moment, as had been his own slashing of Kate Argent's throat, but maybe he'd underestimated the human boy.

"I'm just sorry you had to do it," Derek murmured, nuzzling his way into Stiles' temple, holding him close even though he was clearly still weak and shaken. "I'm sorry you got targeted and got hurt because of me."

"No," Stiles hurried to state, cuddling in close to Derek now that he'd allowed himself to touch, nosing his way into Derek's collarbones, scenting and marking him all in one as though he had been a werewolf himself. " _I'm_ sorry for triggering the GPS alarm and drawing you into an obvious trap. I didn't know but I should have guessed."

"Ugh." There they went, getting their emotions all over the place. That was Peter's cue to withdraw. 

Just a short time ago he'd been threatening Stiles concerning Derek's safety, but Peter could clearly see that this wasn't an issue he needed to be worried over any longer. If anything, Stiles would fight harder and meaner than Peter to keep Derek from being hurt. And seeing what the human was able and willing to do, and knowing how powerful the bond between them was, Peter didn't think Derek's heart was in danger from Stiles either.

Clearly they belonged together, and while Peter thought it was gross and somewhat inappropriate that Derek had bonded with a human, he _was_ glad for his nephew. A different mate would have been more fitting, it was true, but at least Stiles had proven himself, before Derek, Talia, and Peter.

And Deaton, who was murmuring to Talia about making Stiles his apprentice or some such as they stood and withdrew, to go and talk to Chris Argent and the other authorities who had arrived.

It was true that Stiles was untouchable, due to all the points Talia had listed and more, and it was clear that Gerard had been one hundred percent in the wrong and that Derek had been his victim, but that didn't mean there wouldn't be repercussions and that the Hale alpha and emissary wouldn't have their hands full dealing with this.

Ugh. It was so annoying that they had to go through this a second time, Peter thought with intense irritation and hatred. Well, at least that task fell mostly on his older sister. This time Peter hadn't been the one to carry out the execution, so his involvement would be less intense and invasive. This time it would only disrupt his life as much as he allowed it to.

"Peter," Talia said, turning and speaking to him as he rose gracefully to his feet. "Can you get Derek and Stiles home? Deaton says that neither will need immediate medical treatment, that he can visit them later tonight as long as they look after one another in the meantime. And I'm pretty sure that won't be an issue."

Peter glanced at the werewolf and human coiled together at the base of the wall where Derek had been chained, Derek exclaiming over the damage to Stiles' face, Stiles hand spread over Derek's chest right over his heart, their noses so close they had to be sharing breaths, their personal odors intermingled in that now-familiar scent that surrounded Derek every day at the office.

It might be a little juvenile, but Peter was a proud man and he was _proud_ that his sister trusted him enough to send her beloved son and his obviously beloved mate off with him, entrusting them in his care.

And so Peter would get them home and live up to this trust. He wanted to do as much, for his alpha, for his nephew, and for himself. And once they were home, he'd leave them to spend time alone together, the way they were obviously going to want and need.

Because if he had to see Derek and Stiles all over each other for very much longer, Peter was going to barf.

***

When all was said and done Stiles and Derek spent the better part of a week curled up together in bed, recovering from what Gerard Argent had done to both of them. 

It was more the physical healing than anything else; Gerard had done his best to damage them both mentally and emotionally, but he'd been largely unsuccessful. After all, Derek had suffered far worse at the hands of Gerard's daughter, back when he'd been younger and less self assured. And Stiles had belonged to both Kali and Ennis at different times in the past.

Gerard might have been awful in his own way and done awful things to them, but his attempts had been weak compared to things they had endured previously and they had both come through stronger on the other side.

In fact, speaking of Stiles' former owners, once all the facts had come to light it was a strange and slightly bizarre coincidence that _Ennis_ had been the one Gerard had forced the bite from then killed in order to become an alpha werewolf.

Stiles wasn't about to shed any tears over that loss, and since he'd told Derek that Ennis had been going to literally kill him, which was what had caused Stiles to run away in the first place, that made it even less likely that either of them would mourn his loss.

Though Derek did feel that in a way Ennis was indirectly responsible for Stiles coming into his possession, becoming his bonded mate, so there was that.... But it hadn't been in any way deliberate, had been nothing but weird happenstance, and so there was really no need for gratitude. Not when Ennis had been the kind of monster Kate and Gerard Argent had so ridiculously accused Derek of being.

Of course, Ennis' savage nature had not made Gerard Argent's actions any more excusable where the authorities were concerned, and Gerard was found guilty posthumously of grave crimes against a werewolf while he had still been human. Since he was dead now it didn't really matter, but it did mean that his status of alpha had been negated, as though it had never happened, so even if his actions hadn't already been justified by all witnesses to the events -- which they _had_ been -- Stiles was not technically considered to be a human who had killed a werewolf.

All of this came together with the fact that Stiles was bonded with a werewolf and had a spark, so as Talia had predicted, he was completely untouchable.

Deaton had officially registered Stiles as his apprentice, which meant that once Stiles completed his training he would no longer be legally considered a slave, and as soon as he _began_ his training he was unofficially no longer considered a slave. Deaton had, however, told Stiles he could come to him when he felt ready, that he wasn't going to push the boy.

A fact for which both Derek and Stiles were grateful, because it was going to be a while before either of them was going to be comfortable letting the other out of his sight.

By the time they made their way through most of a week, Stiles' face, torso, and wrists were healed. Derek was on a sabbatical from work, though his job was waiting for him whenever he was ready to return, and his mother was happy to pay for the apartment and whatever food and necessities he and Stiles ordered in the meantime.

It was almost like the two weeks that Derek had taken off after purchasing Stiles, except that there was no fear or lingering uncertainty between them. This time together was all for them, alone, simply enjoying one another's company uninterrupted. Or as close to uninterrupted as anyone could manage.

Derek was grateful for his family, as he had been the first time he'd been abducted and held captive -- and how wrong was it that there'd been a second time? -- but he was even more grateful that they knew to back off and leave him alone with Stiles.

Both of them were still dealing with the reality that they were bonded. It should have been obvious, Derek mused, and both his mother and Peter had hinted at it having happened, but it had still taken him by surprise. 

And yet nothing had ever felt more natural than accepting that fact and internalizing it. Derek felt that he had known the first moment he'd set eyes on Stiles, even though he hadn't known he'd known. That was why he had brought the damaged slave home, no matter how bad an idea it had seemed at the time, no matter how Peter had judged him for it.

Peter was a proponent for their relationship now, which Derek found even more unbelievable than that his mother approved. Maybe this was what it would take to bring Peter around to the way the rest of the Hales viewed the slavery of humans, instead of him simply regarding the social convention as being natural and acceptable....

Or maybe not. But either way Derek was glad that the most important people in his life not only approved of Stiles as his partner, but were happy for him and adored the human boy.

So, okay, "adored" was too strong a word where Peter was concerned. But Talia definitely adored Stiles, loved him even, and she now considered him to be almost as much her son as Derek was. 

Derek himself wasn't sure how he felt about the whole bond thing, but he couldn't deny that it was a fact. Not only had its existence allowed Stiles and his mother to track him down when Gerard had chained him up in the basement of the deceased Ennis' house, but Derek himself had felt it while his head was swimming with wolfsbane.

Because it hadn't been his imagination. He'd been in extremis and suffering from the poison in his system, but that might have been what allowed him to reach out and sense Stiles; his rational side hadn't been alert enough to tell him all the reasons why it shouldn't be possible.

Sort of like how Stiles hadn't known better than to use mountain ash as a weapon. Well, not very much like that, but it was a similar enough situation that Derek didn't feel completely stupid making the comparison. Privately, to himself, in his head.

Talia Hale took care of the legal ramifications that had happened, stopping by their apartment regularly to keep them updated, to get information from Derek, or just to make sure they were okay, but never overstaying her welcome. Deaton was there a few times to see to their recovery, but for the most part Derek and Stiles were alone, and that was the way Derek wanted it. He loved his family and his mother, but he needed to wallow in the reality of Stiles uninterrupted, and reveled in the opportunity to do so.

Being in bed with Stiles was comfortable and comforting. There were no inappropriate hard-ons for the better part of a week. Derek was stronger than he had been when he'd been seventeen, but the reminder -- both physical and mental -- of the time Kate had held him captive and molested him had been reawakened by what Gerard had done, which kind of wrecked his libido. At the same time Stiles was dealing on an intellectual and emotional level with the fact that he had killed someone. Granted, the person he'd killed had been a sick, twisted individual who would have tortured and killed Derek if given a chance, but that didn't mean that Stiles didn't feel at least a little guilt for having taken a life.

At least Derek recovered quickly from the wolfsbane poisoning, as Deaton had promised, so he was able to keep Stiles free of pain while the damage he'd taken from his beating at the hands of Gerard's goons healed.

Speaking of which, Gerard had indeed taken care of the humans he'd hired before Stiles and the others had arrived to rescue Derek, so Gerard had been the only enemy they'd had to contend with. That had been convenient, though it begged the question of _who_ the humans had been. 

Unregistered humans with access to wolfsbane and weaponry were always troublesome, and Chris Argent was investigating his father's connections with the criminal underworld with an intensity and diligence that was probably as much a product of his grief as it was his disgust for the things his father had done while living.

Derek felt a little bad for the human, but he didn't waste much time thinking about the Argents. They weren't all bad. Chris' wife had vanished under suspicious circumstances a few years ago -- the suspicion being placed on _her_ possible actions, not what might have happened to her -- but Chris' daughter, Allison, was actually in a relationship with a member of the Hale pack; Scott McCall, who hadn't been born a werewolf, and who, probably because of this or maybe just because he was a good kid, had no problem with the social stigma of being in a relationship with a human.

Well, it seemed to be a Hale trait, Derek thought with some amusement, nuzzling Stiles' temple. Laura was almost definitely partnered with her former personal slave, Derek and Stiles were bonded, Scott was probably going to marry Allison someday, and Derek had some serious questions about what was between Peter and Lydia. There were even a few rumors floating around that Talia's grandfather on her maternal side had been human. 

At any rate, Derek being bonded with Stiles didn't mean that they were ever going to have a romantic, sexual relationship. Derek _wanted_ that, but since he had no idea how Stiles felt about the matter, he wasn't going to push. 

Even though they were bonded and he considered them equals, and they would be _literal_ equals once Stiles was done with his apprenticeship under Deaton, they were still owner and slave now, and Derek was still terrified that if he made so much as a hint of a move toward initiating a sexual relationship with Stiles, that Stiles would take it as a command and indulge Derek whether it was what he wanted or not.

And Derek wouldn't be able to stand that. It would be better to be near Stiles and never be _with_ him than to wonder if he was coercing Stiles into something the boy didn't actually want.

It was enough to curl up in bed with Stiles, to smell his touch all over Stiles' skin, to know that his own skin was imprinted with Stiles' scent in turn. There was no more individual odor for either of them now; now they both smelled of DerekandStiles, and that was the way they both wanted it.

That, at least, Derek felt he could be certain of. He and Stiles didn't verbally communicate about much, Derek didn't feel as though they really needed to, but Stiles _had_ told Derek that he liked the way they smelled together. In fact, Stiles laundered the sheets far less often than he might otherwise have done, simply to retain that smell in a place where it was concentrated enough that his human nose could pick it up.

Derek didn't complain about that, even though it got pretty malodorous. He liked it when their refuge smelled strongly of both their bodies. Liked it more than maybe he should.

It was early afternoon now, and they were still in bed. Derek knew that this delicious, languorous existence wasn't going to last forever, and if he was completely honest he didn't really want it to, but in this moment there was nowhere else he'd rather be. The comforter was heavy and warm, the sheets smelled like them, Stiles was breathing sweetly and regularly in his arms, and they were still pleasantly full from the lunch they'd emerged briefly to prepare and eat.

So of course Derek had to take a leak. 

Dammit.

He sighed, and Stiles laughed softly against the muscles of his chest. That was a sound Derek was never going to get tired of, one he would have once thought he'd never hear, which was why he treasured it above all things, except maybe for the beautiful smile that Stiles offered him from time to time.

Derek knew that Stiles would probably never fully recover from the abuses and deprivations of his childhood, but he was more healthy, this apartment and Derek's arms were a safe place, and Derek would work as hard as he could to make the world a safe place for Stiles wherever it was possible for him.

Right now, though, Derek's focus was on his bladder, which gave an uncomfortable throb as he shifted. 

"We should probably shower soon anyway," Stiles said huskily, and of course he knew why Derek was squirming. "Come on."

With Stiles dragging him up and out of the clinging sheets, with the promise of marking his bonded and of a nice hot shower, Derek was a little more amenable to getting out of bed. 

Especially since he was pretty sure that they would end up right back in bed once they were done.

They were both naked already, because flesh on flesh was better and when they wanted to smell like one another clothing just got in the way. Derek was half-hard, and he was fooling himself when he blamed it on his need to urinate, but that was what he was blaming it on. 

It might be moderately pervy, but Derek couldn't stop himself from running his gaze over Stiles' lean body as they entered the bathroom. The boy had really had grown into himself. The last month or so of eating right and working out had sculpted him into the young man he already should have been, instead of the scrawny, undernourished wraith Derek had brought home from the warehouse where he had found him.

Derek had memorized the moles dotting Stiles' face and body, and this wasn't the first time he'd found himself experiencing the desire to bite all of them, to lick a path between each one, to taste that pale skin.... But it was the first time his pesky libido had stirred since he'd been rescued from Gerard's clutches, despite all the time he had spent naked in bed with Stiles.

It was kind of a relief, though his cock really could have picked a better time to reawaken to his attraction. They were bonded, but that didn't necessarily mean that sex was a factor. And just because Stiles got hard too, when they marked each other, Derek couldn't assume that this meant it was because of _him_.

They had an emotional connection, Derek couldn't deny. And he was glad for that. His life was a thousand percent less lonely now that he had Stiles in it. He hadn't even known that he was missing something before Stiles, but now he knew and he never wanted to be without ever again.

And he was relatively certain that Stiles felt the same.... He knew that the human was no longer afraid of him, and that he wasn't repulsed by their bond. Once Stiles was through with his apprenticeship with Deaton he would be a free agent and would no longer belong to the Hale pack in general or Derek specifically; could even, if he chose, go and become emissary to a different pack....

Derek could only hope that Stiles would want to remain with him once he was no longer his personal slave. It might be in name only now, but it _was_ a reality that they both had to abide by until Stiles was done with his apprenticeship. And that would take years.

Well, Stiles _was_ here with him by choice right now, Derek was pretty sure. If he'd wanted to leave he could have already started his apprenticeship and moved out of the apartment, into the Hale house. It would have been his right to do so. An apprenticeship to an emissary trumped any previous claim on a slave, even if the human was still legally a slave until said apprenticeship was done. 

"Hey."

Stiles spoke softly, but Derek was attuned to every sound that he made, and his attention popped immediately to the beautiful boy standing there in front of the shower.

Stiles was smiling at him, his lips curved and his eyes warm with what Derek could only read as fondness and affection.

"Where were you?" Stiles asked quietly, taking a careful step backward and tugging on the hand he still held captive, pulling Derek into the stall after him. 

"It's nothing," Derek denied automatically, not wanting to worry Stiles with his own concerns. If he shared them, Stiles might laugh at him or he might be offended, and Derek couldn't bear either of those possibilities.

"Uh-huh." Stiles gave him a knowing look then grasped Derek by the upper arms, maneuvering them so that they were standing face to face in the center of the stall, as they usually did. But unlike the norm, he didn't remove his hands, and he didn't kneel before Derek. Instead he stood and met his gaze levelly, something sharp and serious in his brown eyes.

"What?" Derek asked, feeling dumb, but his insides squirming with sudden nerves. He was pretty sure that there was something going on, even before Stiles opened his mouth and said;

"Derek, I think we should talk about something,"

He could feel his eyes go wide and his breath caught, but Stiles' hands were still large and warm on his arms, and he didn't look away, holding Derek captive with his amber-lit gaze. God, he was beautiful, Derek thought helplessly, and he decided that whatever Stiles was about to say he would take it like a grown werewolf, and he would be grateful for the time he'd had with his bonded.

"No, it's not bad," Stiles hurried to add, and then he bit his lip and turned his face to one side while still keeping his gaze fixed on Derek, peering at him shyly through his long lashes. "At least, I don't think it is...."

"What is it?" Derek crackled out, steeling his spine. He'd withstood the torture Kate had inflicted on him, he'd bounced back from his abduction by Gerard. He could take whatever Stiles was about to say, even if it was that he was leaving him to go and begin his training with Deaton. Even if he wanted to leave tonight.

Stiles licked his lips, and Derek's cock twitched. He'd have thought his erection would have flagged with the mental and emotional distress he was feeling, but evidently standing this close to Stiles with the promise of them pissing on each other was enough to keep his hard-on going.

"I think..." Stiles paused and sucked in a deep breath, "I think you might have the wrong idea about... something."

Derek scowled, he couldn't help himself. He wasn't sure if he should be feeling calmed or panicked by Stiles' words. It sort of depended on what came out of his mouth next.

Stiles licked his lips again, and it was a nervous tic that Derek was aware of, but it was also a sweet and terrible torture right now. If Stiles' sense of smell had been as strong as Derek's he'd be virtually swimming in the smell of Derek's growing arousal.

"I think you have the wrong idea about how I think of you."

Derek's heart plunged at this, his body breaking into a cold sweat. This was what he'd been fearing all along. He was ready for Stiles to tell him he was going to pack his things and head for Deaton, that he was disgusted by the lust Derek had been feeling for him, that he was tired of having a werewolf piss on him and ask him to do the same and wrap him up in his arms and keep him in bed and--

Stiles continued, bulldozing through Derek's panicked thoughts, forcing him to focus his attention on what he was saying by speaking again. 

"See, Emissary Deaton told me to explore the bond between us," Stiles said, which confused Derek a little, though he didn't want to admit it, because it was so far from anything he had anticipated. "When your mother used the bond to help us find you, she made me aware of... of kind of where it is. Or more _what_ it is. And it's sort of like a muscle that I've been flexing. The more I do that, the more I can sense you; how you're feeling and maybe a little what you're thinking. 

"Not in an invasive way," he hurried to assure Derek, even though Derek actually didn't mind Stiles knowing him more deeply. "It's kind of like how you can smell my emotions in my scent and hear my heartbeat. It's not giving me an advantage; it's more as though it's evening things out between us."

"I understand that," Derek said, because he did. And he was happy that Stiles had this small advantage. But he felt he needed to know.... "If I start doing the same, would I be able to sense you the way you can sense me? Or is it because of your spark?"

Stiles frowned slightly, cocking his head. "I think it's something you could develop too?" he replied, but slowly and not with any certainty. He shook his head. "I'm sorry, you'll have to ask Emissary Deaton to be sure, but I _feel_ like it's something you can do too."

"I trust your feeling," Derek said, smiling at Stiles, even though he was still freaking out inside that he might be losing Stiles to Deaton soon.

"But do you trust _me_?" Stiles asked, fixing Derek with a bright and unflinching gaze again.

"Yes," Derek replied without hesitation.

"Do you trust that I trust you?"

That was a little harder to parse and it was a more complicated matter, but after just a moment to think it over Derek nodded. "Yes. Yes, I do."

Stiles smiled brightly. "Good. That should make this easier, if you can just keep that fact in mind."

And then, before Derek could even wonder what this meant, Stiles was unexpectedly lunging toward him. Derek startled but he didn't pull back because he _trusted_ Stiles. He remained where he was, and then suddenly there were a pair of lips mashed against his own, soft and plump and giving and so much better than he could ever have imagined, even though it was the most unstudied kiss Derek had gotten in his life.

It was also the most wonderful kiss Derek had gotten in his life. Instinctively his hands came up to cup and cling to Stiles' bony elbows. Stiles' hands remained on his arms, and aside from these mutual grips their mouths were the only things touching, but it was more than Derek could ever have dreamed of during the days they had spent plastered together, limbs entangled as they lay naked in bed together. 

Because Stiles was kissing Derek, and he _meant_ the kiss, in an unmistakable nonverbal declaration of intent.

Derek tilted his head to try and temper the kiss, but it was all pressure and heat and slightly moist, and he still thought it was the most amazing thing he had ever experienced, even if it wasn't a lot different than some of the kisses he'd gotten from his toddler cousins.

Okay, it was _worlds_ different than that last, of course. But the technique was more that of a child than a lover.

That was likely to be because Stiles had never been anyone's lover, Derek thought with a flare of delighted possessiveness. And this was the thought that kept Derek from just sweeping Stiles into his arms and devouring his mouth.

Well, that, and there were still some questions unanswered between them. Which Derek only remembered as Stiles broke the kiss and took half a step back. That move made Derek whine low in his chest, but he acknowledged that they weren't quite done here.

"Why?" he asked hoarsely, and he wasn't even quite sure what he was asking, but fortunately for him, Stiles understood.

"Because you weren't sure," Stiles said, and his smile with kiss-bruised lips was now _officially_ the most beautiful thing Derek had ever seen. "You weren't getting it. Which is nice of you, okay? You've been considerate and conscientious, and I appreciate that. I wasn't sure either. I thought that when you got hard it was just a physical reaction to the smell of my arousal, and wasn't because of _me_."

Derek loosed a scoffing sound before he thought better of it, and Stiles quirked one brow. "You don't get to judge me for that assumption," he said tartly, and how Derek loved that his cowering, fearful personal slave had now become an equal who wasn't afraid to speak his mind. It had been a long, difficult road getting here, but it had been worth the troubles they had suffered.

"After all, you were thinking the same thing about me," Stiles continued, squeezing Derek's arms and smirking at him. "It wasn't until I could feel some of what you were feeling through our bond that I realized how you really felt."

Derek flushed, but he wasn't about to deny any of what Stiles was saying. They probably should have talked about this before, long before, but each of them had been terrified, thinking that he was the only one who was invested. It seemed stupid in retrospect, but it had felt so real and entirely probable at the time.

"I never would have thought that there was anything about me that you wanted," Stiles admitted, turning his gaze down and flushing.

Derek let out a small sound of distress, freeing one hand to lift Stiles' chin so that he could meet his eyes.

"You are beautiful and amazing and strong and everything that I want," he said firmly. "And I don't want you to ever think that I feel differently and I don't want you to ever forget that."

Stiles' blushed more deeply, but his smile was like sunlight. 

"I just... I didn't want you to feel obligated," Derek said awkwardly, shrugging his shoulders uncomfortable as he admitted this. "Because I'm your... _was_ your owner. I was so scared that if I made any move you'd feel that you had to say yes even if you didn't want it."

"We've cleared up that misconceptions, though, right?" Stiles asked, raising both his brows, a little smirk hovering around the corners of his generous mouth. "You know that I actually do want this. Want _you_."

Derek ducked his head and grinned in return. "Yeah."

He must not have sounded -- or felt? -- completely certain, because Stiles persisted.

"Derek, I want you. Not because you're my owner. And not because you're easily the most gorgeous person I've ever seen. Though that doesn't hurt," he added impishly, before sobering. "You've never been anything but generous and gracious to me. You've never done anything less than your best, in whatever situation you've been in. Don't ever think I don't appreciate your patience with me back when you first brought me home."

"I just wanted to help you," Derek said softly.

Stiles nodded, then bit his lip. "Look, I.... Confession time, Derek. When your mother did her... claw thing, or whatever it was, to tap into my brain and follow our bond to find you?"

"Yeah?" Derek prompted as Stiles paused.

Stiles fidgeted then continued. "Alpha Hale is a strong woman with a lot of control, normally; I'm certain of that. But she was incredibly worried about you, and I think there was some bleed-through because of that."

Derek frowned, wondering what Stiles was getting at. Fortunately for him, Stiles continued talking, explaining.

"So when she got in my head, some of her memories leaked into me," he said. "She was remembering you the first time that happened, when you were still my age, when Kate Argent kidnapped you. It's not a big deal, but.... Well, you've seen me at my worst, Derek, but I feel as though I've seen you at your worst too." 

Stiles paused for a breath, his hands squeezing Derek's upper arms in a comforting way. "I'm not saying that to hurt you or make you feel bad or anything, and I don't want to remind you of that time. I just want to emphasize that in _no_ way am I still intimidated by you, and that you being a werewolf and still technically my owner is _not_ going to factor into my decision to have sex with you."

Derek had been feeling conflicted as Stiles had spoken -- his chest aching with the reminders, the visuals, the thought of his mother being so worried about him -- but this last sentence sent a surge of heated excitement through him. He was pretty sure he understood what Stiles was getting at, and it actually did make him feel better about what there was between them.

"That works for me," he said hoarsely. "So, are we..." he actually had to clear his throat in order to continue, "Are we going to have sex?"

Stiles' eyes widened, and his cheeks were a fiery pink, but he nodded emphatically. "Yes, please!"

"But first," Derek said, a little reluctantly, "I need to take care of this." 

He waved downward, and only realized belatedly that he might have been perceived to be referring to his erection -- which would seem completely nonsensical, since that was what he was going to use while having sex -- but of course Stiles understood he meant his full bladder. 

Stiles got a wicked look on his face and then knelt. "Go for it," he instructed, like that was going to help; Derek was already going to have enough trouble pissing with the hard-on he was still sporting.

Derek groaned. He missed the heat and weight of Stiles' hands on his arms, but the sight of him on his knees before Derek, face raised in offering, a heat in his eyes that Derek couldn't mistake for anything other than arousal, arousal that he knew was for _him_ , was more than enough to make up for that loss.

It was even more difficult than usual to relax himself enough to cut loose, but Derek had gotten a lot of practice in the last month or so at pissing with an erection. 

For the first time he really let himself _enjoy_ the sight of the pale-gold liquid splashing on Stiles' pale skin, knowing that it was not only endured but welcomed. All he had to do was look at Stiles' hungry expression and he believed that. This wasn't a one-sided titillation, as he had always feared. His emotions and desires were met and matched by what Stiles was feeling.

It seemed all too quickly that Derek was finished, his bladder empty, but he had his reward because Stiles was slick and smelled strongly of him, beautiful and bold and _all his_. Well, Stiles belonged to himself, but he was offering himself to Derek. And now it was time for Derek to return that favor.

He lifted Stiles to his feet, and then for the first time, as he'd wanted to do all along, he took his turn kneeling. Offering himself as a blank canvas for Stiles to mark with his own urine, not just from the groin down this time, but all over.

Stiles' breath caught, and then he smiled down at Derek, far more sweetly than was probably warranted when pissing on each other was involved. Derek couldn't help smiling back, even though he could feel his pulse pounding at the base of his throat, and his cock _ached_ , it was so fat and hard where it jutted between his thighs.

It felt great, to _not_ feel ashamed of his erection, to not fear that Stiles would take it the wrong way, because the wrong way had always been the right way, but now it really _was_ the right way and there was nothing wrong with it after all. Derek wanted Stiles and Stiles wanted Derek, and right now, right _now_ Derek wanted Stiles to piss on him.

And Stiles did. It was different when it was his shoulders and torso, Derek discovered, than when it had just been his cock and thighs. It felt even hotter and it trickled through the hair on his chest, trailing around his nipples in a way that made them stand out hard and tight. 

Derek raised his chin, meeting Stiles' heated gaze, and he couldn't help palming his own throbbing cock, pushing it up against his abdomen and rubbing it into the urine that trickled down to kiss the skin of his torso. He smelled of Stiles now, the way Stiles smelled of him, and they were equally marked, they belonged to themselves first but they also gave themselves to one another, and that was a magnificent thing.

Stiles evidently hadn't needed to urinate as badly as Derek had, because he was finished even more quickly, but that was all right, since Derek was really ready to move on to the having sex that he'd been promised.

He almost rose to his feet as soon as Stiles was done, but then he paused, contemplating the gorgeous prick right in front of him. The floor of the shower stall was extremely hard under his knees and shins, but he could ignore the mild discomfort; after all, Stiles had been on his knees in here at least once a day for about a month now. It was about time Derek made that up to him, and then some.

Stiles squeaked, there no other word for it, as Derek reached and wrapped a hand around his half-hard cock. Derek grinned up at him, but then turned his full attention to the heated erection he was holding.

He'd always tried to restrain himself, had never really let himself _look_ , but now he had permission and he was going to take advantage of that. 

As he'd already noted, Stiles' cock was of a good size, and it was thick and straight, rousing quickly to full hardness as he handled it with rough care. It pulsed in his palm and Derek leaned in to lick at the head, tasting the bitterness of the last of drop of piss clinging to the hot-soft skin of his slit mingled with the tang of precome that was just beginning to ooze. 

That was quick, Derek thought with a smirk, but then, he was pretty sure Stiles had never had anyone else touch him like this before, much less put their mouth there. He gave the tip of Stiles' cock a delicate kiss then took it in his mouth as deeply as he could, his lips stretched around the shaft as he went down.

Stiles let out a frankly unsexy but quite gratifying squawk and Derek had to grab a hold of his hips and use his werewolf strength to hold him upright when his knees threatened to buckle and spill him onto the shower floor.

Derek sucked at what he had in his mouth, merciless, not giving Stiles a moment to adjust, taking in the taste of Stiles, the faint tang of his own piss where it had run down that far, and feeling the heated weight of Stiles' cock on his tongue.

He was a little out of practice, Derek could admit, but he was good enough to bring Stiles to the brink of orgasm in under one minute. Of course, Stiles was a sixteen year old who was almost definitely a virgin receiving his first blow-job. But it still felt like a triumph to Derek when Stiles' fingers threaded through his hair and yanked hard as he curled over Derek's crouching form, his stiff cock jumping and shooting off, spilling on Derek's tongue as he pulled back enough that he wouldn't choke.

The flavor of Stiles burst in Derek's mouth, bitter and thick and mildly unpleasant but infinitely satisfying. 

"S-sorry," Stiles gasped, peeling his hands away from Derek's hair in small, jerky movements. 

Derek stood and gave Stiles a quick, come-flavored kiss. "If you're apologizing for the hair-pulling, don't," he said. "Because I liked it. And if it's for jizzing in my mouth, that was what I was going for."

"Oh." Stiles let out a shaky little exhale, falling against Derek's chest as he reeled him into his arms. "Okay."

Derek's own erection was aching, like a painful, pleasurable bruise, but he ignored it as he got the water turned on and rinsed them both off, all the while holding Stiles close to him and nuzzling his temple, nosing his cheekbone, brushing soft kisses against his open, gasping mouth. It wasn't that different from how he'd done before, when he'd excused himself by saying it was merely a matter of marking and scenting his personal slave, but now he was able to be honest and admit that he was starving for the taste of Stiles' flesh.

"Derek," Stiles murmured, "I need to...." Nimble fingers wrapped around Derek's straining cock, and he groaned, his hips canting into this welcome touch. He'd intended to wait, but as Stiles' mouth pressed against his shoulder, sharp teeth testing the tingling skin there, and Stiles gave his erection several long, water-eased pulls, he grunted, stiffened, and shot off on Stiles' hip and stomach.

"Oops," Stiles said, sounding not at all repentant, raising his hand and licking delicately at his come-stained fingers.

It took Derek a moment to recover and catch his breath, but once he felt as though he could support himself and Stiles both, he got the water turned off and got them both headed back to the bedroom with an almost unseemly haste. He was confident in what they both wanted, and the bed was going to be the best format for the pending fornication they had in mind.

"Hair pulling is good," he informed Stiles huskily as he threw back the covers and lowered them both onto the mattress that smelled of their sweat and contentment already, and would soon smell of their combined spunk. "Biting is better. What about you?"

"I.... Yes," Stiles answered, his eyes wide, arms twining around Derek's neck and shoulders, his torso arching up toward Derek's. "Yes, please."

Derek grinned wolfishly, gratified to know that Stiles shared these kinks, but; "I meant was there anything else? Anything in particular you wanted to do to me, or that you wanted me to do to you?"

"Oohh," Stiles breathed in sudden understanding.

Before he replied, they both paused the conversation for a good two minutes as Derek pressed his mouth against Stiles' and taught him by example how better to kiss, how to twine their tongues around one another, sharing salvia and breath, Derek's hands roaming restlessly over Stiles' shoulders, fingers twitching down to rub at Stiles' pink nipples and dragging a throttled cry out of the younger man's throat.

Derek mouthed at Stiles' chin, teeth nibbling carefully, the salt of fresh perspiration breaking sharp and tangy on his tongue. He could smell the sweat and mounting arousal and lingering traces of his own urine pouring off of Stiles' heated skin, then Stiles tilted his head back in submission, lean fingers twining through Derek's damp hair as he spoke, answering Derek's question.

"I like... I like it when you taste me," he murmured, and Derek licked a trail down his throat, feeling the words vibrating through the thin skin there. "I like it when you smell me. I wanna do the same. And the biting. I think I want more biting. Both of us."

"How about if I eat you out," Derek suggested, his cock giving a pulse at the thought of it, beginning to grow hard again with renewed arousal. "Then ride between your thighs and come all over you."

""Oh my God," Stiles gasped, hips jolting and cock growing hard against Derek's stomach. Derek took this, along with the hand clenching in his hair as a reply in the positive.

"Roll over," he growled, and it was almost a painful act to pull away from Stiles enough to help him obey, but it was in pursuit of a greater goal. And once he had Stiles on his stomach on the bed, Derek felt no more regrets.

Stiles whimpered as Derek muscled his way in between his legs, spreading his thighs and opening him up to his avid gaze, and Derek paused. He could still smell the lust rolling off of Stiles, as strong and rich as his own, but he wanted to make sure....

"Do you want this?" he asked, palming one tight ass cheek but not making any more bold a move than that.

"What?" Stiles slurred, shifting a little, then rising up on his elbows, his spine twisting in a lovely shape as he peered back over his shoulder at Derek, his expression faintly outraged. "Don't stop, Derek, oh my God!"

Derek blinked at him, then chuckled. "So this is okay, then?"

"Derek!"

"All right," he rumbled soothingly, then dipped his head and without preamble licked a wet swath up from Stiles' perineum to the tip of his tailbone, making sure to lave the flat of his tongue deliberately over the tense pucker of his asshole.

Stiles made an incomprehensible sound that he could probably never have repeated even if he'd tried, and his entire body gave an involuntary ripple where he was stretched wide on the bed.

"Liked that?" Derek murmured, squeezing his palmful of ass and sinking his teeth carefully into the firm swell of Stiles' other cheek, no fangs yet but he could feel them itching to drop as the scent of arousal rose off of Stiles like a wave of overwhelming heat that almost slapped him in the face, filling his nose and trickling down his throat, stopping the breath in his lungs.

Without waiting for a verbal reply -- Stiles seemed to be beyond words at any rate -- Derek gave in to his instincts and dove back into the cleft of Stiles' ass, teaching him how a kiss felt here as well. This was just as intimate as the crush of lips to lips, though there was less interaction, and the knowledge of the pleasure he was inflicting on Stiles was even more of a turn-on to Derek than the pleasure that his actions gave him physically.

Rimming was something he personally enjoyed, but Derek didn't spend too long on it. Someday, he promised himself and Stiles silently, someday he would lay Stiles out, hold him open, and eat him out until he came from that alone. 

But right now he had the boy sobbing and writhing under him, obviously over-stimulated by the soft but firm feeling of Derek's tongue undulating against his tight little anus, the prickle of his stubble rubbing against the insides of his buttocks, pinking the tender flesh there, and just the simple knowledge that Derek was willing to do this to him. 

"Beautiful," Derek murmured as he raised his head, his lips feeling warm and tingly, almost but not quite numb, and he was glad that Kate hadn't ruined him for sex. He'd had partners since she had molested him during his torture, willing and enthusiastic partners, and it had felt good, but that had been _nothing_ to compare to touching and being touched by someone that Derek cared about, the person that he _loved_. 

Derek was glad that he knew what he was doing, but he was also glad that this was all completely new to him as well, in a way, because he'd never before had this emotional connection with a bed partner, and he knew now that it made a difference, made it a hundred times more intense.

They hadn't even done much yet, and it was already the best sex Derek had had in his life.

And if he was understanding Stiles' words correctly, Stiles had chosen Derek -- separate from and in addition to the bond between them -- which meant that he could have this, that they would have this forever, both of them. 

Stiles moved readily enough as Derek rolled him over onto his back again, and then surged upward to plaster himself against Derek's torso, arms locked around his neck and shoulders, his face buried in the line of Derek's neck.

Derek shuddered as Stiles bit at him, sinking his blunt human teeth into the sensitive skin there much harder than the nipping he'd indulged in before. It sent a jolt of pleasure right through his groin when he'd already thought he couldn't be more turned on, his cock pulsing out a thick blurt of precome where it was caught between his tense belly and Stiles' bony hip.

"I thought you promised to fuck between my thighs," Stiles rasped, dragging short, nearly nonexistent nails over the skin of Derek's back and nape, arching toward him, his own hard cock a thick line branding Derek's abdomen. His hips were giving little pulses, instinctive humping against Derek in a way that he didn't even seem aware of, and he went right back to worrying at the side of his neck, biting hard enough that he would have been leaving marks if not for Derek's werewolf healing.

Derek groaned, as much at the combination of pleasure and pain that traveled from his throat to his hard cock, pooling in his groin and hooking in his balls, as from the promise in Stiles' words.

"Patience," he instructed, levering up and away from Stiles, even though that wasn't what he really wanted to do. But he wanted to make this good for Stiles. And even though Stiles evidently did want to be ridden to climax, Derek had plans for that gorgeous cock and wanted to get his hands and mouth on more of Stiles' lithe young body.

"Don't wanna be patient," Stiles complained, clawing at Derek's back. "Want you to come all over me like you said you'd do."

This startled a laugh out of Derek, even though he maybe shouldn't have found it so surprising. "I already came on you once," he pointed out.

"In the shower with the water running," Stiles said, pouting up at him. "We should come on each other and mix our scents even more. I want to smell like you and I want you to smell like me."

"You want to smell like _us_ ," Derek corrected fiercely. That was what he wanted too, what he'd wanted ever since he'd realized he was attracted to Stiles, but he hadn't known that it was something Stiles wanted as well. Hearing those words spill out of Stiles' plump red lips so vehemently and hearing the honesty in his heartbeat was as hot as the thought of doing it. And Derek didn't want anything more.

"Yeah," Stiles exhaled, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, his mouth open, tongue flickering pink over his lower lip, his breath humid and moist. 

Derek couldn't help but dip to claim Stiles' lips all over again, and Stiles kissed him back enthusiastically. He didn't seem put off in the least by the fact that Derek had just recently had his tongue in his ass. 

Derek wondered vaguely if Stiles would be interested in at some point returning the favor and rimming him, but that was something for them to communicate about in the future. Right now Stiles was eager and practically virginal and impatient, and Derek wanted to screw him as badly as Stiles evidently wanted to be screwed.

Well, Derek had made a promise and Stiles was practically begging him to fulfill it. Even though Derek would have liked to take his time and take Stiles apart, taste every inch of his skin, he reached for the drawer beside his bed that held the lube.

He'd been making use of it regularly when Stiles had been sequestering himself in the room Derek had originally given him and jerking off, jerking himself off at the same time to the sounds of Stiles down the hall. Now there would be no more solitary, furtive masturbation, no more guilt over listening to Stiles' heavy breathing and the wet sounds of his hand sliding over his cock and getting off to it. Now Derek could be the one to touch Stiles, to make those sounds, and Stiles would be glad to touch him in turn.

"Put your fingers in me," Stiles rasped as Derek bent at lick at his nipples briefly, and that was unexpected. Derek's head jerked up, his eyes wide, hands clenching dangerously tight around the bottle of lube before he caught himself.

Stiles' hands were roaming restlessly over the bunched muscles of Derek's upper back and shoulders, scratching at his scalp through his hair, his head tilted back, eyes closed and mouth open. Derek groaned at the mere sight of him, biting his own lower lip to prevent himself from biting Stiles' chest too hard in overwhelming lust. Even though Stiles had okayed the whole biting thing, Derek still didn't want to risk hurting him, and his control was a little iffy right now.

"What?" he rasped, because he was afraid he'd misheard, but also because he wanted to hear Stiles speak the words again, wanted those dark eyes fixed on him while they talked about sex, while they _had_ sex.

Stiles raised his head, hands clenching in Derek's hair, his eyes dark with arousal as they roamed hungrily over Derek's face. Stiles was flushed, the pink blotchy and uneven where it kissed his cheeks and ran down his throat to mottle his upper chest, and Derek leaned down to gently kiss Stiles' bony breastbone, overwhelmed with a burst of love and affection for his beautiful bonded.

"I want your fingers in my ass," Stiles clarified, his voice hoarse like it had been when he'd first arrived, though for a different reason this time. He exhibited no hesitation in making this sensual demand, and for that reason alone Derek was going to give him exactly what he was asking for. Completely aside from the fact that now that Stiles had said it, there was nothing Derek wanted more to do.

"I can do that," Derek murmured, but rather than acting immediately he set aside the lube, leaving it near Stiles hip, and palmed Stiles' slim waist, licking his way all over Stiles' chest, tasting the heated flush that stained his flesh, testing the flexing muscles of his developing pectorals with careful fangs, and then settling in to leave a mark, sucking and nibbling a vibrant bruise into the skin right over top of Stiles' wildly beating heart.

"Derek," Stiles groaned out, tugging harder at his head, his hips bowing upward into the hard werewolf body keeping him pinned down to the mattress. "Dammit, Derek!"

Derek chuckled, closing his mouth around one of Stiles' nipples, giving it some loose suction while his tongue teased at the pink peak, drawing it to hardness as his fingers tweaked the other nipple to pained tightness, dragging a crackling, uncontrolled sound out of Stiles' arching throat with this dual, conflicting stimulation.

Stiles pulled at Derek's hair hard enough to bring tears to his eyes, and he grinned, leaving off his ministrations, lifting himself and grabbing at the lube again.

"Sorry," Stiles grunted, hands smoothing over Derek's skull, touch greatly gentled now that Derek wasn't tormenting his sensitive chest with fingers, lips, teeth, and tongue.

"I told you it was okay," Derek reassured him, because even now the tingling of his scalp was fading away. "I wasn't kidding, Stiles; I meant it."

"Still," Stiles murmured, thumbs circling the thin skin of Derek's temples, looking so earnest that Derek just had to lever up and kiss his mouth sweetly, "I don't want to actually hurt you."

"You don't need to worry about it so much," Derek smiled fondly, pressing quick little kisses to Stiles' mouth, chin, jawline, cheeks, as he uncapped the lube and got his fingers slicked up. "I heal quickly."

"I still don't-- ah!" Stiles broke off, his back arching and hands clenching in Derek's hair again as Derek carefully but unhesitatingly slid one finger home in the hot, tight heat of his asshole. "Oh my God!"

Derek chuckled, though a bit breathlessly, and nosed at Stiles' neck, inhaling the heady scent of his arousal and pleasure as he opened him up with growing boldness, one finger quickly becoming two, the pad of his thumb rubbing at the powerful ring of muscle that squeezed around his digits, dragging loud, broken, inarticulate noises out of Stiles.

Usually before, with previous partners, Derek had been used to fingering as nothing more than a precursor to the act of penetration, just a means to an end. But as he played with Stiles' clinging anus, he found that he wasn't just indulging Stiles' desire to be touched this way; he was honestly and deeply enjoying it himself.

Stiles was letting out adorable little gasps, his hips rocking in time with the smooth slide in and out that Derek had set up, and Derek couldn't help himself. Mouth already watering, he made his way down to once again drag Stiles' twitching erection into the heated suction of his mouth.

It might have been a bit cruel, especially to do so without any warning, but Derek really hadn't been able to resist the urge.

Stiles shouted, heels digging into the mattress, spine moving in animalistic ways as he twisted vigorously, seemingly undecided as to whether he should drive upward to get his hard-on into Derek's throat or push back into the fingers still locked in the spasming clench of his ass.

Derek helped him out with this, plunging down to the root of Stiles' cock, his skills at deep-throating coming back to him easily, at the same time he thrust a third lube-drenched finger into Stiles' asshole and rubbed his thumb almost too hard against the bulge of his perineum.

Remembering his promise to Stiles at the last minute, Derek pulled off as he felt Stiles' orgasm hit him, holding his jerking cock up against Stiles' own belly as the boy ejaculated, his fingers still working away inside of Stiles, coaxing more out of him, driving him as far as he could go, watching with barely restrained hunger as Stiles writhed on the bed, not even breathing his pleasure was so intense, every muscle winding up tighter and tighter, until he finally loosed a small cry, then collapsed like a boneless doll, covered in fresh sweat and hot jizz, his cheeks and spent prick flushed with pulsing blood, and the salt of tears clinging to his lashes. 

He wasn't crying, but it had been an intense enough experience to make his eyes water, and Derek quickly but very gently retrieved his fingers and moved up to pull Stiles into his arms, holding him close and murmuring soothing nonsense into the damp skin of his face as he rubbed his back and held him while he shivered and moaned his way through the very end of his climax.

This, not incidentally, smeared Stiles' jizz all over Derek's belly, the more so when Derek rolled so that Stiles was caught between his body and the mattress, instinctively knowing that Stiles would find it comforting to be pressed down under his weight, rather than feeling trapped. But that was what they both wanted; for Derek to smell of Stiles as much as Stiles was going to end up smelling of Derek.

Derek petted Stiles' head a little roughly as Stiles sobbed for air, breath blasting hot and humid against Derek's neck and collarbones where he had his tucked safely away. Derek's own neglected hard-on was leaking copiously against the bed and his hips were shifting restlessly. It was going to have to be his turn soon if he wasn't going to just frot against the mattress until he came, but Derek was going to give Stiles as much time as he needed to recover; emotionally as well as physically.

Stiles was trembling, but as he came back to himself, his plush lips moving with growing intent over what he could reach of Derek's throat, he sank his fingers into Derek's hair again, flexing them as though he was a cat kneading. 

"It's your turn, Derek," Stiles rumbled, nipping sharply at the skin stretched tight over Derek's clavicle, merciless and painful, making Derek's erection flex and leak even more eagerly. "Ride between my thighs until you come all over me."

"Fuck," Derek huffed, nosing his way down to kiss that filthy, red, wet, gasping mouth. "You say the sweetest things, Stiles."

Stiles laughed into their kiss, and then sighed a little, stretching underneath Derek, reminding him not only of the jizz smeared between them, but also of the fact that he was probably growing a little heavy now that the immediacy of Stiles' climax was fading away.

"You know you want to," Stiles husked, tugging at Derek's hair deliberately this time, and that was just as hot as when he did it involuntarily, though for different reasons. "Come on."

"Are you sure?" Derek asked, nuzzling the thin, fragrant hollow under the jut of Stiles' jaw, nosing up into the space beneath his ear. "I meant to do that before I brought you off," he confessed. "I can just jerk off on your stomach, it's okay."

It really was okay; he wasn't very far from orgasm after experiencing the sensations, smells, and sounds of Stiles getting off, and he was even more turned on by the way Stiles was pawing awkwardly but enthusiastically at him right now.

But Stiles answered emphatically, "If you do, I'll never forgive you."

He didn't really mean it, but he did, Derek thought, huffing into Stiles' neck then moving up to claim his mouth again for several breath-sapping kisses, before he grasped the lube and maneuvered them so that they were spooning, Stiles tucked back into the curve of Derek's body, the soft skin of his ass crack already driving Derek crazy as his aching hard-on slid against it.

"Here, give me that," Stiles said, holding a hand awkwardly back and making grabby motions. Derek correctly surmised he meant the lube, and handed it over.

He breathed heavily against the nape of Stiles' neck as Stiles shifted, parting his thighs and rubbing in the lube, slicking the space between his thighs with wet sounds that had Derek's cock jumping and leaking all over the heated dampness of Stiles' perineum, where it had come to rest while Stiles unexpectedly prepared himself for the intercrural sex they were about to indulge in.

"Okay," Stiles sighed, and he actually sounded happy and contented, which made Derek's heart warm even though he was on the verge of losing control, his need to come beginning to override everything else. 

 

"Okay?" Derek growled as Stiles capped the lube and then closed his legs, squirming, reaching back between his slick thighs and dragging Derek's pulsing erection between them with wet fingers, stroking the shaft for a maddening moment, before he pulled his hand away, and used all the muscles of his lower body to lock his legs together and give Derek a hot, tight channel to ride.

Words were a thing of the past at that point, but it was pretty clear that Stiles not only had no problem with this, but he was eager to have it happen. Derek didn't think he'd ever been so enthusiastic after coming, himself, but he'd never had sex with Stiles before, so maybe when their roles were reversed in the future, Derek would be just as excited as Stiles even when he was post-coital.

Stiles was so devoted to giving Derek a perfect ride that Derek didn't even need to use his own werewolf strength to manipulate or maneuver his lover; Stiles kept his thighs tight and ground his ass back toward Derek with more control over his muscles than Derek thought he himself would have had so soon after coming as hard as Stiles had just come.

The sleek heat between Stiles' thighs, the skin there so smooth and yet clamped together like a vice, had Derek on the verge of shooting off far before he wanted. He would have loved to have stretched this out, made it last, slowed screwed Stiles into the mattress, taken his time and maybe even brought Stiles back to hardness again while so doing....

But there was absolutely no way that was going to happen when Derek was as wound up as he was, when he was so turned on with the taste of Stiles on his tongue, the scent of Stiles' jizz on both their skin, the reek of their mingled sweat, and the hot, lithe, wiggling body that fit so perfectly in his arms, not to mention the hard muscles of the thighs locked around his cock.

"F-fuck," Derek gritted out when he suddenly realized that this wasn't going to last any longer and he was about to come. He accomplished the seemingly impossible move of yanking back away from Stiles, far enough to slide his throbbing cock up the crack of Stiles' slippery ass and jizz all over his lower back, instead of shooting off between his legs and possibly getting more on the mattress in front of them than Stiles' creamy skin.

"Yuck!" Stiles exclaimed, but he sounded delighted rather than disgusted, and he squirmed backward readily enough when Derek roped his arms around his stomach and tugged him up against himself almost too tightly, working his spunk into both their bodies the way he had done with Stiles' just a short time earlier.

Now Stiles was stained front and back, and their jizz was mingled together on Derek's stomach just the way he had wanted, and he let out a huge sigh of happiness and repletion as he hugged Stiles close and buried his face in the curve of his shoulder, allowing himself to ride the heady heat of his afterglow for long moments before he moved or even began thinking again.

Once his higher functions returned, though, Derek loosened his grip on Stiles. Stiles let out noises of discontent, until he realized that Derek was trying to turn him within his embrace, and then he shifted readily enough, rolling toward Derek.

Once they were face to face, legs entwined, their drying jizz smeared together between their close-pressed bodies the way Derek wanted, Derek pulled the comforter over them both.

It would get too warm and smelly under there soon, he thought in lazy contentment as Stiles mouthed at his lips and chin, nibbling at the stubble on his jaw, then licking his way into Derek's mouth with a hunger that was a bit incongruous when they were both so wrung-out, but they'd only just finished showering.

They would lay here, weltering in their own mingled smells, soaking up each others' heat, trading kisses and maybe getting hard again, and eventually, _eventually_ they'd have to bathe again, maybe change the sheets....

But that was going to be _days_ from now if Derek had anything to say about it.

"This is what I want," Stiles purred, cuddling impossibly closer and lapping at the corner of Derek's mouth. "Forever."

Derek was glad to know that it wasn't just him, and that Stiles wanted the same thing he wanted.

"Yeah," he agreed, and then did his best to kiss any more words right out of Stiles.

***

Laura managed to stay away for a week and a day, and Stiles was pretty sure it was the hardest thing Derek's sister had ever done.

He felt as though he had an inkling, even though he didn't know her very well, because she was in contact with him by text on a near-daily basis, and he was pretty sure she was emailing or texting Derek even more.

But when she was someone who operated pretty far outside the law at times, and outright broke it others, she'd needed to avoid being near any of her family members until most of the legal complications of Derek's abduction and Stiles' killing of Gerard were cleared up. 

They didn't think that anyone would actually be watching out for her in connection to Derek's troubles, but there was no point in taking chances and none of them wanted anything bad to happen to her.

But on the morning of the eighth day since Stiles had been snatched off the sidewalk, Laura was letting herself into Derek's apartment. Derek already had the coffee started and Stiles was cooking them pancakes and bacon. They were awake and dressed rather than having sex or sleeping off the sex they'd had because Laura had given them a heads-up that she'd be there by eight, and it was seven-thirty on the dot.

Stiles smiled softly and watched with a swelling warmth in his heart as Derek swept his older sister up into a tight hug, and they held onto each other long enough that Stiles had to turn back to the stove and flip the pancake that was currently in the pan.

Then Derek came over and took the spatula from Stiles so that he could take his turn being squeezed and scented by Laura.

He hugged her back, breathing in the clean scent of her hair. Even though they mainly kept in touch electronically, she was the Hale that Stiles felt he knew the best after Derek, and he liked Laura a lot, as well as deeply respecting her for her efforts in freeing all humans from the yoke of slavery in their lifetimes.

"Don't you guys ever do anything like that again," she said fiercely, then returned to Derek, holding him while Stiles got breakfast on the table. He and Derek shared a wry smile over her head, both of them knowing what she had meant and why she had said it. Obviously no one in the Hale pack blamed either of them for what had happened. Kate Argent had targeted Derek because she'd thought he was "pretty" and because he'd been vulnerable. And Gerard had attacked both of them because his daughter had been killed for what she'd done to Derek. There was nothing about any of that that Laura blamed them for, and they all understood that.

"Sorry, Laura," Derek said, rubbing his cheek against hers. Stiles ducked his head and grinned, thinking that Laura was lucky that he'd talked Derek into shaving for his sister's visit. Though, she was a werewolf, he mused as he poured himself more coffee, so any stubble-burn would have healed pretty quickly. Not like the tingle he was still feeling between his thighs from the night before....

"Euw, are you thinking about sex right now?" Laura asked, wrinkling her nose at Stiles. All three of them ignored the fact that her eyes were damp as she finally pulled away from Derek and went over to get herself some coffee.

"Don't ask questions you already know the answer to," Derek replied for Stiles, giving him a wicked grin.

"Now you're both thinking about sex and I regret ever setting foot through the door," Laura declared, scowling at them both and Stiles schooled his features, giving her his full attention so that he'd stop smelling of arousal. He liked Laura and didn't want to make her visit unpleasant in any way.

"It's not like the whole apartment doesn't smell of sex," Derek said, shrugging, and he didn't seem to mind tormenting his sister, but she _was_ his sister, and he seemed somehow proud of the fact that he and Stiles were boning several times a day and through a large part of the night as well.

"We opened the windows," Stiles offered as they all sat at the table and dished up food. He chose maple syrup for his pancakes and bacon while the Hale siblings preferred boysenberry. Heathens.

"It probably helped," Laura grumbled, snapping her way viciously through a slice of bacon. "But there's only so much that can be done."

Derek simply looked smug, and Stiles felt himself flushing but he wasn't ashamed of their healthy sex life or anything. He was probably about as pleased by it as Derek, but he didn't feel any need to rub Laura's nose in it.

"Can we talk about something else?" he asked shyly, still hesitant about speaking up when there was someone outside of himself and Derek involved in the conversation... but this was Laura and he knew that she liked him. She'd told him so more than once in texts and emails.

"Sure thing, sweetie," she said, sounding and looking a lot like her mother for a moment, giving him a big, bright grin. "Have you started taking any classes with Deaton yet?"

Stiles shook his head. "Not yet. He doesn't want me to show up until I can show up alone, and...."

He glanced at Derek, and when Derek reached for him with the hand not holding his fork, Stiles put down his own fork and twined his fingers through Derek's, enjoying the warmth of his palm and the smoothness of his skin.

Laura made gagging sounds, but when Stiles looked at her she was smiling widely at them both. "If Deaton is waiting for the honeymoon phase to wear off, he's going to be waiting a while," she declared, wrinkling her nose at them, then digging into her stack of purple-stained pancakes with relish. 

Stiles looked at Derek, who shrugged. "We'll get back to real life someday," he told his sister, tracing the pad of his thumb over the pulse in Stiles' wrist. "But we're not in a hurry."

"I'm really happy for you both," Laura said, and she sounded totally serious, not mocking. "You know that, right?"

Stiles smiled back at her.

"But?" Derek prompted, his thick brows rising.

Laura laughed and snatched a slice of bacon off his plate. "Just try to tone it down while I'm having breakfast, okay? You two can be all lovey-dovey once I've left the apartment."

Derek snorted but let go of Stiles' hand and they all settled in to eat. Stiles just basked in happiness and listened as Derek and Laura gossiped about the pack and discussed recent news. He didn't think holding hands at the table was 'lovey-dovey' but he could see Laura's point. And he had no desire to make her feel uncomfortable. Not when she'd had to hold off so long checking on her younger brother, and not when she'd been kind enough to give them advance warning before she came over.

Though that last had probably been self preservation, Stiles thought with a small smirk, watching Derek's ass flex in his jeans as he stood and carried their empty plates to the sink. Otherwise she probably would have walked in to catch them in the act, and that was something none of them needed.

Laura was watching Stiles watch Derek's ass, one brow raised judgmentally, once again looking like her mother, and Stiles lifted his own brows, completely unrepentant.

Her expression dissolved into a warm smile, and she reached over and dragged him halfway off his chair in order to give him a super-awkward hug.

"I'm glad you've found your place, Stiles," she said, and it was worth almost pitching on his face and her embrace being a little too rough to hear the truth in her tone. "You're my new baby brother and I couldn't be happier for both you and Derek. You really deserve each other."

Stiles took that last statement as the compliment it was meant to be and embraced Laura in return as well as he was able. 

"It's thanks to you," he said, pulling away as soon as she loosened up a little, so that he could meet her eyes. "It was having you here, seeing you and Derek together, being able to believe your words when you visited the first time, that really broke through my fear and let me realize that Derek was different than my other owners. Not even your mother could do that."

Laura looked surprised and pleased, and Derek came over, dragging Stiles away from her and into his own arms, rubbing his face against Stiles, both to mark him with his scent after Laura had gotten her smell all over him, and also to silently comfort him. Neither of them liked being reminded of Stiles' previous owners, though for slightly different reasons. Stiles wanted to leave all of that behind him, forget the pain they had caused him, and Derek was jealous, possessive, and also didn't like being reminded of those who had hurt his bonded in the past.

"I'm happy I helped," Laura said, and then she was hugging them both, and the three of them practically fell on the floor despite the siblings' werewolf reflexes. Stiles laughed with delight, feeling overwhelmed with love. Before Derek had found him he'd been terrified of werewolves, only knew damaging touches. But now he snuggled into the group hug and did his best to get his smell all over both of them the same as they were doing to him.

Stiles was going to have to check with Deaton -- someday, when he and Derek could tear themselves apart for a few hours a day -- but he felt as though the more he flexed his spark "muscle", the more his senses improved. He didn't think it was his imagination that he was better able to smell Derek, and not just because they both reeked of one another's spunk and piss and sweat most of the time now. Having Laura here underlined this, because he really couldn't remember being able to parse her scent from Derek's and his own last time she'd been here, and that was only partly because of the haze of fear he'd been in at the time.

They repaired to the living room with their coffee refreshed, and Stiles curled up beside Derek, pretending that he couldn't remember the way he'd perched on the edge of the loveseat cushions the first time Laura had visited.

This time Laura sat on the loveseat, even though Stiles was pretty sure she'd rather have snuggled up with her brother... but he just couldn't bring himself to leave Derek's side and he was glad that Laura was sitting where he could meet her eyes.

"Laura," Derek said seriously, before they could start in on more small talk, "I want to help you with your cause."

"What?" She stared at him, frozen, eyes wide. Stiles wasn't surprised. Not because he and Derek had already discussed this, but because he felt as though there was no longer anything that Derek could say or do that would surprise him. Well, not much.

Derek shifted but his voice was steady as he said, "I just can't continue living here safely in my apartment when there are children being born every day who have a life like Stiles had, or even worse."

Stiles turned his head and nosed at Derek's smooth-shaven jaw, feeling affection and gratitude fill his chest with a warmth that was the physical sensation of love. Every time he thought Derek couldn't get more wonderful, he went and got more wonderful. That really wasn't a _surprise_ , per se, but it was something that Stiles had to re-realize an awful lot.

Laura was looking at her brother with an expression that was both incredibly proud and yet somehow sorrowful at once.

"Derek," she said softly, "I'm really touched to hear you say that. But you've been through so much already. How can I drag you into a life of danger with me?" She grimaced and shook her head. "Because even though I try not to worry you, and even though I do stay as safe as I can, don't make the mistake of thinking that's not what would happen."

"What good is the lack of danger if it comes at the cost of turning a blind eye on those less fortunate than me, though?" Derek asked, almost sounding angry, though it wasn't anger that Stiles could feel through their bond, more like intensity and powerful intent. Not to mention a great deal of stubbornness. "I can't live like that, Laura."

"Then do like Mom," she pressed, leaning forward, hands clasped around her coffee mug. "Work through channels that already exist. Work through the law."

Stiles knew without looking that Derek was scowling, and he decided it was time for him to speak up, even though he hadn't been consulted about this prior to Laura's arrival.

"You know, having someone who's been fully trained as an emissary would actually be very helpful to you and your cause, Laura."

He could feel Derek's head whip around to stare at him, and Laura's eyes went wide and then narrowed as she stared at him shrewdly. 

"Stiles," Derek began, but Stiles cut him off before he could say anything more.

"What? You don't think you can offer your services without mine being on offer too, do you? We're a team, Derek. And as strongly as you and Laura feel about this, trust that I feel the same and _more_."

Derek's mouth opened and closed, but he couldn't really argue.

"You're certainly not wrong," Laura said thoughtfully, drawing their attention. "Your apprenticeship will takes years to complete. That's time enough to train you both in self defense and to make sure you're fully informed about what you're getting into.... And there's still plenty both of you can do to help me and the others in the meantime."

Derek huffed, but he could hardly protest any of this. Stiles needed to become a full-fledged emissary in order to win his freedom, and that status could only aid Laura's cause. Not to mention the more time they had to prepare themselves before plunging into the thick of things, the better the odds that they could actually make a difference.

In the end nothing was definitively decided, but Stiles was pretty sure that they all knew how things were going to go. And he and Derek working together with Laura would be able to do a lot of good before they were finished. 

In fact, with Derek and Stiles on her side, Laura might actually win the freedom of all humans in their lifetime. Stiles didn't think that was egotistical of him to anticipate this as being a very real possibility.

Laura didn't stay long, chased out by the smell of them she claimed, but she did promise to stop by more often and they would all stay in touch by electronic means, as they had already been doing.

As if Laura's visit had been a catalyst of sorts, slowly Derek and Stiles started leaving the apartment more. First grocery shopping, which was a little stressful for Stiles since he'd been kidnapped while running out for butter, but which turned out to be a really fun chore when he was doing it with Derek. 

And then they began attending pack dinners at the Hale home. Stiles could tell that Derek had missed his family, as much as he also valued his privacy, and now that he had more confidence in his own place in the pack, Stiles discovered that he liked all of the Hales -- werewolves and human slaves alike -- and while it was always a relief to return to the quiet privacy of their home at the end of the evening, Stiles no longer experienced any anxiety when they entered the insanely noisy Hale house and were practically swamped in exuberant hugs and shrieking toddlers.

Peter still freaked Stiles out a little, but the scariest thing about him now was how intently he approved of Derek and Stiles being together. Lydia still eyeballed her owner with incredulity every time he spoke to Stiles as an equal, but it made Stiles feel safe and valued and he knew that Derek was thrilled with his uncle's new amenability toward a slave who wasn't Lydia. Especially when that slave was Stiles.

That Stiles finally beginning his training with Emissary Deaton surely helped with Peter's improved attitude toward him. Even though Stiles was still legally a slave who was owned by the Hales in general and Derek specifically, by tradition and social convention he was now basically considered a free man. It wouldn't be official until he was finished with his apprenticeship, but everyone treated him as though he belonged to himself.

None of that changed his life with Derek, of course. Stiles would love Derek even if not for the bond between them, he was fairly certain, but he didn't even need to think about that because they _were_ bonded.

In fact, Stiles didn't think there was any way in which his life could be better, he really didn't. Then Alpha Hale just had to go and prove him wrong.

No one had the decency to warn Stiles ahead of time, not even a hint, and Derek was left out of the loop as well. So it came as much a surprise to Derek as it did to Stiles when they showed up for a pack dinner one night, and when Stiles walked into the living area to greet his alpha, he came face to face with someone he'd thought he'd never see again.

" _DAD_?!"

Derek caught Stiles when his knees gave out on him, and Stiles probably would have passed out from shock, but if he did that then he wouldn't have been able to fly across the room and fling himself into his father's arms. And there was nothing more important than that right now.

"Stiles!"

As his dad hugged him and held him close for the first time in over six years, and Stiles sucked in great gouts of his familiar scent, sobbing a little, his father sobbing a little, and both of them pretending they weren't crying, Stiles knew -- he just knew -- that Derek was standing behind him, smiling and happy for him.

But he also knew that there would be at least a little bit of jealousy, like he felt whenever Alpha Hale hugged Derek and held him as though he belonged to her alone. And so he pulled away from his father slightly, before he was ready, but he needed to introduce the two most important people in his life to each other.

"Dad," he said, his voice a little choked but clear and no longer raspy the way it had been when Derek had first purchased him. "I need you to meet someone."

And evidently his father had already been filled in by Alpha Hale, because he was already staring at Derek intently. He looked a little older than Stiles remembered, more weary and worn, but he seemed healthy overall. He wasn't as tall as Stiles recalled, but his blue eyes were the same, and his arm was still strong and sheltering where he had it wrapped around Stiles.

"Derek," he greeted, already holding out a hand in offering. Stiles shook his head but couldn't help smiling. It figured that his dad had been able to accept that the Hale pack was different far more quickly than he'd managed. "Thank you so much for taking care of my son and for everything you've done for him. I'm very happy that you two have one another."

Derek stepped forward and took the proffered hand, giving it a firm shake. "Thank you, sir," he replied respectfully.

"We were able to find your father," Talia Hale was saying unnecessarily, and Stiles would have hugged her in gratitude if he'd been able to pull himself away from his dad. "I purchased his contract from Deucalion. He's a Hale now, the same as you are."

Stiles might have cried a little more at this point, but if he did no one blamed him. Derek's hand closed warm around his wrist, bracing, and he felt love and support radiating through the bond between them, no more jealousy, just happiness for Stiles' sake because he had his father back now, and Stiles shifted his hand so that he could twine his fingers through Derek's, holding on tight.

He wasn't ready to move away from his dad yet, but he knew that Derek was here for him, and it was Derek he would be going home with at the end of the evening. 

For right now, though he was surrounded by family, and he had his father back, and Derek was here beside him, and Derek was in his heart.

It had taken a while for it to happen, and it had taken him even longer to believe in it, but Stiles was finally home. 

And even better, he'd been able to make his own heart a home for Derek. Whatever else happened, whatever the world threw at them in the future, they were always going to have one another.

Stiles smiled at Derek and Derek smiled at Stiles, and for long moments, even though they were surrounded by family, there was only the two of them.

Derek had Stiles. Stiles had Derek. And that... that was _everything_.

**Author's Note:**

> Idek you guys. I started writing this during NaNo and just look what happened! *throws up hands*
> 
> Now back to actual WiPs!! ^o^;;


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